Kick a Hole in the Sky
by Iced Blood
Summary: A certain boy has ambitions, and a certain man has the resources and the temperament to see them realized. But what if that man never showed? What if a different man showed that boy another path, a path he never even thought to investigate?
1. The Hellenic Overture

_**I shouldn't be doing this. It's not an expedient use of my time, nor my creative energy, considering just how many stories I have which already demand my attention.**_

_**However, I have never been a paragon of proper time management, so why start now? It hardly seems appropriate.**_

_**Those of you who have never read my Yu-Gi-Oh! stories before, welcome. Those who have, welcome back. Did you miss me?**_

_**I always say, when I finish a story, "See you on the next journey."**_

_**Well, here it is. Most recently, I finished "Light a Candle for the Prince," perhaps the darkest tale I've ever penned. So I suppose that might be one reason why I've decided to select this road, for that next journey I was talking about.**_

_**Strap in, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen.**_

_**This should be an interesting one.**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>The master is wearing red, the servant black, and somehow that says more about the both of them than it should.<p>

The master's stride is quick, confident, his gaze straight ahead, and his surroundings have no control over his impeccable bearing. The servant, however, walks with a stutter and talks with a stammer, and every handful of seconds he looks around as though he expects to find some sort of apocalyptic exigency about which no one bothered to warn him, and that he fears—specifically due to his lack of proper preparations—the known world might just rise up and eat him, with teeth like gravestones and a tongue long enough to wrap around the moon.

The servant doesn't consider this strange, or a sign of social hypochondria; he's sure that casinos have this effect on a lot of people.

"Ah, sir? If you don't mind my asking . . . I thought you said you were going to visit the old orphanage today. Not that I'm specifically _encouraging _parenthood at your age. I'm not trying to speed things along in the slightest. But _why _are we here?"

The master chuckles, and a slow smirk slides across his young face. He takes in the bright, blinking, flashing lights of the slot machines; the neutral fluorescent lights of the ceiling. The master finds the psychology of casinos fascinating. The fact that there are no windows, no clocks, no sign whatsoever of time passing. The fact that the loudest and most generous slot machines are placed near the front entrance, like traps set for prey.

The fact that there isn't a single person in this land of revelry and reckless fun who looks in any way happy.

"I find a place like this . . . puts me in the proper frame of mind," the master says, with a contemplative sweep of his gaze across the fields of war. He spots a family, two adults and three children, trying to make their way to the buffet while keeping track of themselves in the throng. He smiles.

"I . . . uh . . . okay. But still, why would you want to do this in the first place? Why even _put _yourself in the right frame of mind? I mean, considering how suddenly you lost your—" The master levels a horrific glare, and the servant stumbles back a step as though it's struck him physically. He tries a different tack: "Considering the, ah, state of your life as it is, sir, do you honestly think you have time for a family?"

The master shakes his head. "That sort of thinking is contingent upon the idea that my free time will _expand _as the years pile on. I can assure you that that will not happen. I refuse to be one of those who spends his entire life waiting for the right moment, only to die before he finds it."

"While noble, this _still _seems like a rather rash decision. Parenthood isn't a hobby, sir. It's a commitment. You're committing your life to the molding of another. That's no easy task, and . . . well . . ."

The master eyes the servant somberly. "Trust me. I know what this decision means. I am fully prepared to accept the consequences. But understand: if I wait until I am ready, my family line will die with me. I cannot allow that to happen."

This results in an _almost_ companionable silence, as the servant finds himself unable to conjure up a new argument. The eccentric young man responsible for his paycheck every two weeks really _does _seem to have thought of everything. This is not just from the servant's own prodding, of course. Everyone on the house staff has been prodding and pressing him with questions ever since his announcement—three days ago—that he intended to find himself an heir.

A particularly loud slot machine prompts a startled screech from the servant, at which the master chuckles quietly, and the conversation finds itself at a new beginning.

"Sir? You said this place puts you in the right frame of mind. _What _frame of mind is that, exactly?"

The master grins toothily, and something flashes in his eyes. "Conquest."

The servant blinks, digests the words slowly and finds that they taste disconcerting on his tongue. "Sir? Since when is adopting a child a . . . conquest?"

The master stops walking and laughs out loud. "Since when is it _not_?"

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>The Domino Children's Home is a hallmark of a forgotten age, a relic without a future and hardly a past worth mentioning. The master finds this charming, and a little concerning. He has often wondered if there isn't some <em>better way <em>to provide for lost and forgotten children than tossing them in a shack.

He sits, regal and unruffled, before the director of this particular shack.

". . . Excuse me?" the said director is asking now.

The master smirks, almost seductively. "I said, my good sir, I find it troubling that you are in a position of power here, considering your distaste for the children under your care."

"Distaste? I'm not sure I know what you mean."

The smirk disappears. "I mean you hate children, and it bothers me that you've made a living out of taking care of people that you hate. I would have similar misgivings about a Grand Dragon infringing on the NAACP. Is that clear enough for you?"

The director shoots bolt upright from his seat, as though mortally offended. The servant, standing to his master's right, immediately makes for the pistol he keeps in a shoulder holster beneath his coat. His nervousness is gone. The mission is on, and this is no place for extra emotional baggage.

But the servant knows, even as he makes for his weapon, that Gregor Kelvin is no threat.

Gregor Kelvin blows up like a bullfrog. "I _beg _your _pardon_?"

The master chuckles, and crosses one leg over the other. "Enough of this. You clearly aren't the sort to speak with me about _grander issues_. Let's put this in black and white, shall we? You tell me what I need to do, what promises I need to make and what papers I need to sign, to leave this building with one of your charges. If you do that, then I will not only . . . free you from one of your innumerable shackles, but I will also make a donation to this establishment. I should hate to have the rest of the youngsters living here thinking that I'm somehow playing favorites. I want _all _the orphans in my fair city to live better, more comfortable lives. Not just the one I happen to like." The master pauses. "And . . . of course, I should like to _thank _you and yours, for making such noble choices in your career paths."

It isn't Kelvin who speaks now, but a young woman with blond hair and thin glasses perched on her nose. She steps forward, taking unconscious control of the conversation from her superior, and says: "I'm afraid it's not quite as simple as you signing some forms and leaving with a child, sir. We're not running a pet store."

The master raises an eyebrow, and gestures invitingly to the woman. "Please. Enlighten me."

"There's an application process, training, and of course you'll have to be approved. We'll need to conduct a background check, a home inspection. It's all here." She hands the master a slim stack of papers that she's prepared. "It may be up to a year before one of our . . . charges leaves with you."

The master looks displeased, but not surprised. He flips through the pages in his hands quickly. "I see. Of course. We don't live in the Middle Ages, after all. There are procedures to observe. My apologies. Ah, you are . . . ?"

"Kristine Hathaway," the woman replies. "I'm a caseworker." She holds out a hand.

The master shakes it, smiling dutifully. "Thank you very much, Miss Hathaway."

He does not give his own name.

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>The master spends the rest of his afternoon leisurely observing the children at play in the front courtyard. Most seem happy enough. They seem like children. Playing pretend, clambering over playground equipment, chasing each other.<p>

It's after school, and energy is still running high.

The master soon tires of this, and he eventually notices that Kristine Hathaway has left the director's office and is now ushering a small gaggle of boys away from a smaller gaggle of girls. Clearly she is not _only _a caseworker. She seems to also be a caretaker.

The servant watches as the master takes a small book from his pocket and starts reading. He doesn't pretend to read; that would make the ruse ineffective. He reads in earnest, and when Kristine comes up to the master a minute or two later, he is so absorbed that he very nearly forgets the game he had decided to play.

"Are you religious, sir?" Kristine asks, noting that the book in the master's hand is a Bible. She sounds at once perfectly innocent, yet also suspicious. Master and servant both wonder how many prospective parents use religion as a way to get their proverbial foot in the proverbial door.

The master gestures with the Good Book to something that neither Kristine nor his servant can see. "Absolutely not. I read this whenever I start thinking that the true answers to life's questions might _actually_ be found inside a church. Invariably, I am reassured that this is not the case."

Kristine actually chuckles. "Is that right?"

"Reading the Bible is a leading cause of Atheism, I am sure of it." The master flips pages. "Just consider God's treatment of the Egyptians, here in _Exodus_. Simply because Pharaoh refuses to listen to Moses and Aaron, _all _of Egypt is punished? Yet here, and here, and here," the master points, "it is mentioned that God is responsible for the hardening of Pharaoh's heart. The Lord Himself is forcing Pharaoh to countermand Him, so that He may bring plagues to Egypt. That hardly seems . . . godlike." The master pauses. "Or perhaps it _does _seem godlike, and that's precisely the problem."

Kristine's mirth disappears, but not her interest. "I'm not sure I've heard that perspective." She thinks a moment, then makes a gesture for the master to follow her. "Come with me. I think you might want to . . . meet someone."

The master bows. "Please. Lead on."

Kristine walks, and the master follows. The servant follows the master.

Kristine calls out: "Dan! Dan, where's Seto? Is he home from school?"

A young man in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt looks over. "Hm? Oh. I, uh . . . think he just put Mokuba down for a nap. Why?"

Kristine gestures again. "I just thought he might like to meet someone."

"Why's that?" Dan asks, coming up to them. He glances at the master and offers a friendly sort of nod, which is reciprocated. "It's not often he 'might like to meet' anyone. You know that."

Kristine smirks. "Call it a hunch."

Dan eyes the master curiously, then shrugs. He turns, and they all watch as a thin boy, about ten years old or so, strides quickly into the courtyard with a thick book under his arm.

Kristine calls out: "Seto! Seto, honey, come over here a moment, please."

The boy turns. His blue eyes, nearly covered by a curtain of brunette hair, are sharp. Even from this distance, the master . . . _sees _something in them.

The master smiles.

The boy approaches; _he_ does not smile. "What is it?" he asks Kristine. "What do you need?"

The master bows low at the waist before Kristine can speak.

"Good afternoon. Seto, was it? May I call you Seto?" The boy shrugs. "Seto, then."

"What's this about?" Seto asks, impatiently but not impolitely.

The master holds out a hand. "A pleasure to meet you. My name is Pegasus Crawford."


	2. Dramatis Personae

_**Thanks to everyone who gave the first chapter of this new venture a shot. This is new for me. I've never written an AU (divergent) story before, but after so many years I figured it was time to start.**_

_**This was one of the first to really catch my interest. If I could remember the story which planted this idea in my head the first time, I would. My apologies, but it's been several years. As it is, I must thank Schwarzd354 for encouraging me to go along with my take on it. Not that it took much encouraging, exactly—I already loved the idea—but . . . well, that's who I'm blaming for this.**_

_**Ahem.**_

_**Now, then. You can't have one brother without the other. So . . .**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>Seto stares for a moment, like there's been a glitch in his programming, before he reaches out to shake Pegasus's hand. He says, ". . . Pegasus Crawford?" in a soft sort of voice, and he looks around at the others like he's seeking confirmation that he's heard correctly.<p>

Pegasus Crawford's eyes light up. "Oh. Have you heard of me?" He asks this with honest humility; or, at least, his humility _sounds _honest, like he would never have even considered the idea that a little boy tucked away in a far corner of Domino City would have heard his name before.

"Here we go," says the servant, rolling his eyes in a friendly sort of way; he truly has let go of his nerves. There is something about this situation—now that he has been directly faced with it—that has calmed him. Perhaps it's the fact that Kristine has informed them of the time frame.

Perhaps Master Crawford isn't prepared for a child _now_, but in a year? With training and a long approval process under his belt? It's quite possible. At the least, jumping through a few hoops will truly test his willingness.

Pegasus reaches into a pocket and produces his wallet. He flips it open and shows his ID to the boy. "There you have it. In black and white . . . or, color, I suppose. So, tell me, Seto, where is it you've heard my name before?" He glances at Kristine and Dan with a wink. "He doesn't have the sound of someone who's simply incredulous about my first name. Plenty of people have to repeat it to themselves, but not with this particular inflection."

Dan chuckles. "Oh, we _all _know your name, sir."

Seto stares at the card in Pegasus's wallet, then scrambles to pull something out of his front pocket. Pegasus kneels down as Seto does this, and catches the boy's book almost nonchalantly as it falls forgotten from its owner's grip.

Pegasus flips his wallet back into his hand, pockets it, and hands the book to Dan as he waits for Seto to fish out his prize.

Seto comes back up with a small stack of cards. They're the size of standard playing cards. Each has a small piece of artwork on one side, with miniscule text beneath it and a title atop it. The card-back is a vortex of red, gold, and brown.

Pegasus grins. "My! So my little game _is _gaining in popularity." Seto holds them up like they're priceless artifacts, and Pegasus kneels down again so that he's eye-level with the boy. "_You_ have excellent taste, Seto."

"Well," Seto says, embarrassed, "I don't actually have enough to _play_. And . . . even if I did, I don't have enough for anyone to play _against _me." He bounces back almost immediately, with a happy sort of determination. "I'm going to save up, though!"

Pegasus frowns studiously. "Hmmm . . ." He stands back up and looks at the servant. "Croquet? Could you go to the car and grab something for me?"

The servant, now with a label like his master, bows his head. "Of course, sir." Croquet turns on a heel and walks away; he doesn't need further instruction. He knows exactly what his master intends to do with the rest of his afternoon.

"Um . . . Mister Crawford?" Seto says. Pegasus raises an inquisitive eyebrow. "Why did you come here? Not that I'm complaining, but it's not exactly common. Mostly people forget about this place. Maybe they hand over a dusty old soccer ball at the toy drive in December, but other than that . . ."

"Seto!" Kristine cries, a gentle admonishment that Seto probably doesn't even hear.

Pegasus chuckles. "Well, now. I suppose you have a point. Society seems to think of children as accessories. They attach to their parents, like earrings, and they either make an ensemble or ruin it. And naturally, what is the use of a pair of earrings without an owner to wear them?"

Seto's eyes are flinty, and he nods with a grimness beyond his years.

"But you see," Pegasus says, holding up a finger, "there's a secret to _my _particular brand of madness. I have always considered children to be people."

Seto blinks again.

Pegasus actually watches the child's mental calculations as he determines whether or not he likes this answer. Theories combine with memories, and they expound upon themselves ten thousand times in the handful of seconds during which this young genius is surprised.

Evidently the final calculations are positive, because a sunny little smile rises on his lips, and he laughs.

Kristine and Dan both stare at Pegasus as if to say, _You're a magician_.

Pegasus smirks at Kristine and Dan as if to say, _I know_.

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>Pegasus is seated at a picnic table, across from Seto, when Croquet returns with a leather briefcase; he sets it on the table without a word. Pegasus smirks sideways at it. He says to the boy, "What would you say to a little wager, Seto?"<p>

"A wager?" Seto repeats slowly. "What kind?"

Pegasus opens the case with the flourish of a game show host, revealing stack upon stack of cards. "_Magic & Wizards _is a very important project for me," he says, "and I'd very much like to spread it around as much as I possibly can."

Seto is sidetracked, staring at the treasure trove of cards, barely listening. "Uh-huh?"

Pegasus reaches over, spreads Seto's meager selection out on the table, and flips them each over so that they're face-up. "It looks like you're only keeping cards that fit a strategy," he says, gesturing, and Seto finally reverts his mental faculties toward listening. "You're already building a concentrated deck, even though you only have six cards."

Seto looks self-conscious. He shrugs. "That's kind of the whole point . . . isn't it?"

"That would depend. There are three types of customers for a game like this. There's the casual player, who might wait for theme decks to be released, and buy those instead of single packs. A surprisingly under-utilized resource. Then you have the collector, who buys packs to build a complete set, not to play. Then, of course, you have the _player_, and I think that's the sort you are. You want these cards to play the game, and personally . . . well, I find that to be the most important avenue."

Seto shrugs again. "It's a game. If you're not going to play it, what's the point?"

Pegasus beams at the boy like a proud father. "Precisely. So! Here's what I'm suggesting, dear boy. I want you to look through these. This whole case, here. I want you to build a deck, using whatever strategy you'd like. And then I'm going to challenge you to a duel, right here at this table. If you win—_if _you win, which won't be easy, then you can keep the deck. Not only that, but I'll build a few decks of my own, and I'll keep them here for other children to play as well."

Seto's eyes are sparkling, and Croquet raises an eyebrow, wondering if the boy might start salivating next.

"What do you say?"

For as smart as he seems to be, Seto is unable to formulate words. He simply nods.

"Well, then!" Pegasus claps his hands together. "I'll leave you to this. Wouldn't want me knowing your plan ahead of time, now, would we? That would be cheating."

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>By the time Pegasus returns, a second boy has joined Seto on his side of the picnic table. Much younger, and smaller, this boy is sleepy-eyed and dressed in shorts, badly-tied tennis shoes, and a long-sleeved shirt with a medieval knight stamped on the front. Compared to Seto's khaki pants and pale yellow polo shirt, he looks particularly disheveled; especially considering the state of his hair, which somehow resembles a cactus and a kitten at the same time.<p>

He's alternating between staring at Seto, staring at the stacks of cards _around _Seto, and plucking out single cards from the remaining stacks in the case. He will look at one, frown seriously, then hand the card to Seto with a decisive look on his little face. Seto, for his part, will take each card he is offered, glance at it, and invariably set it aside.

As Pegasus approaches, the black-haired boy waves a card at Seto's face. "Nii'tama! Nii'tama! Look _this _one!" Seto, obviously paying very little attention and only doing it to placate his tiny companion, looks over. "It's _dragon_. This one _dragon_."

Seto smiles. "Yes, it is. See there, Mokie? Right there on top?" He points. "That says 'Baby Dragon.'"

"Bay . . . bee . . . dragon," the other boy says, grinning. He sees Pegasus, thrusts his little arm up to showcase his prize, and cries triumphantly: "Bay-bee _dragon_!"

"Indeed," Pegasus agrees. "And who's _this _little warrior?"

Seto smiles dotingly. "This is Mokuba. My brother."

Pegasus smiles as well. He holds out a hand. "Hello, there, Mokuba. My name is Pegasus. Nice to meet you."

Mokuba obviously has very little experience with handshakes. He stares, wide-eyed, then turns to look at his brother. "Pega-huh?"

"Pe-ga-sus," Seto replies, over-enunciating. He takes hold of his brother's hand, brings it over to Pegasus's, and works him through the machinations of an obviously foreign concept.

Pegasus accommodates both boys, and once Mokuba manages to replicate the gesture decently enough, he says, "That's a fine handshake, Mokuba. I'm honored. Say, do you know what your brother is doing right now?"

Mokuba nods enthusiastically. "Prepare for _battle_!"

Pegasus laughs heartily. "That's right. Well done!"

Mokuba grins again, obviously pleased with himself.

Seto's own smile hasn't left his face; in fact, it widens. This is a rare occurrence, if the looks on Kristine's and Dan's faces are any indication. They've migrated over to the table and are watching from a distance.

Pegasus says, "How are you faring, Seto?"

"Almost done," Seto says, now fully engrossed in the subtle science of deck-building again.

"Very good. I'll leave you to it." Pegasus points to Mokuba. "You be sure to keep an eye out. This is very important. We don't want any interruptions, now, do we?"

"Uh-uh. No rup-shun."

"In-ter-up-tion."

"In a _rup_-shun."

Pegasus makes his way to the other adults, who gawp at him. He says, "Charming boys, I must say. But for the little one to be orphaned so young . . . tragic. He won't even remember his parents."

"You . . . you . . . how are you _doing _that?!" Dan seems to be having trouble breathing.

"I don't think I've _ever _seen that boy smile so much," Kristine offers, more put-together than her compatriot but obviously no less shocked. "Especially when Mokuba's around. He's as dangerous as a mother hawk where his brother's concerned."

Pegasus chuckles. "It's a gift."

"_I'll _say. Seems like when an adult has something to say that actually _interests _him, he's downright _lovable_. Look at him! He looks . . . _happy_."

The mirth leaves Pegasus's face, and it turns stoic. Almost grim. "The fact that you sound so surprised is . . . troubling. Particularly considering the fact that you two seem to be the only adults in this establishment _interested _in this particular pair."

"Let's just say," Dan says, "that Seto hasn't made many friends."

"Issues with his peers notwithstanding," Pegasus says, "I didn't realize it was _his _job to ingratiate himself to his _caretakers_. Forgive my saying so, but that seems . . . rather backwards. Not to mention pathetic."

Kristine nods seriously. "You're absolutely right."

"I'm finished!" Seto calls out.

"_BATTLE_!" Mokuba cries, throwing up his hands and sending several cards flying into the air.

"Mokie!" Seto admonishes quietly. "Pick those up! Those aren't ours!"

Looking devastated, Mokuba whimpers: ". . . Sorry, Nii'tama."

"It's okay." Seto ruffles his brother's mass of ebony hair. "Just . . . pick them up."

Pegasus draws in a breath, straightens his jacket, and turns on a heel. "If you'll excuse me," he says, "I have business to attend to."


	3. The Field of Battle

_**Is it odd that I figure Pegasus would be good with kids? I'm not entirely sure, but I think it makes a lot of sense. He's a kid at heart, and honestly he's not that old when we meet him at Duelist Kingdom.**_

_**He's only 24.**_

_**Having just turned 28 . . . yeah, I'm gonna say he's pretty young. Especially considering in this story, if I've calculated the timeline correctly, he's only 19.**_

_**Anyway, here are some things that happened:**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>Croquet has watched enough matches of his master's flagship game to know that Pegasus is holding back. Equally obvious, however, is the fact that Seto is extremely sharp for a boy his age. As soon as Pegasus sets two notepads on either side of the picnic table (to keep track of life points), and their decks are shuffled, the boy's entire demeanor makes a radical shift.<p>

Little Mokuba had said that his brother was "preparing for battle." This is clearly true, because he looks like a field general, glaring down at his cards like he thinks they might step out of line if he doesn't keep a close eye on them.

Kristine Hathaway and her companion, Dan (Croquet discovers that his last name is Elliot), have joined Croquet as the second and third members of the audience for this inaugural match.

"So, all I can gather from the past fifteen seconds is that the object of the game is to flip cards face-up as quickly as possible," Dan murmurs thoughtfully. He glances at Croquet. "He's doing well?"

"Extremely," Croquet says. "Every time Master Crawford breaks through one of his strategies, he starts on another. He's made sure that every card in his deck is useful in at least two different ways, from the look of it. And . . . unlike most beginners, he hasn't just gone straight for absolute power. I mean, he's still using what I've heard called a 'beat-down' deck, but . . . yes. Remarkable."

Against any other player, Croquet is sure that the sheer speed of Seto's play-style would intimidate and fluster his opponent. The boy is obviously advanced, gifted even, and he wastes no time in laying out each move; his turns typically last a total of five or six seconds.

But Pegasus Crawford has no trouble keeping up. His movements are swift but deliberate, and after a while Croquet realizes that his master has been deliberately slowing himself down, and he further realizes that this is wearing down Seto. The boy gets gradually, but obviously, frustrated. Pegasus, meanwhile, is entirely unperturbed.

"Unfortunately," Croquet says after a while longer, "it seems that Master Crawford's won."

"How do you mean?" Kristine asks.

Croquet gestures. "He's managed to break young Seto's concentration. Look at his face."

"I get that cards are a psychological game," Dan says, "but I think it's a bit early to say—"

"_Damn _it!"

Dan sighs. "Never mind."

Pegasus gathers up his cards, reshuffles his deck, all with the slightest of smiles on his face. "So sorry, dear boy. Your strategy was impeccable. No doubting that. Was this your first duel?"

"No! Well . . . yes. Technically." Seto is sulking.

"Remarkable. You _are _a talent." Pegasus smirks. "But, you _did _lose. And, of course, that means you must accrue a penalty."

"You're keeping the cards," Seto guesses, subtly pouting.

"Hm?" Pegasus quirks an eyebrow. "Oh, you misunderstand me. As punishment for losing, dear Seto, you must do something _truly_ reprehensible." He reaches over, gathers Seto's cards, and shuffles them with the speed and confidence of a street magician. He hands them over. "You must accept my charity."

". . . What?"

"Take them," Pegasus says. "They're yours. I give them to you. You must accept this gift, which you did not earn, as punishment for losing. And if you wish to remove such a blemish from your conscience, well . . . I bid you good luck. Challenge me again. I'm sure I'll be seeing quite a lot of this place from now on."

Pegasus looks over at Kristine and Dan, and waves them over. He hands Kristine the briefcase of cards from which Seto built the deck he is now holding in both hands like it's a venomous serpent.

Pegasus says, "Keep these on hand, won't you? I'd like to see my cards in the hands of all the children here. Well . . . those who are interested, in any case." He looks over at Seto again. "By the way . . . if you'd won, I had intended to help you spread the word. But I do believe I'll leave that to you. If you want to practice, and improve your game, you'll just have to find someone else to play against in the interim." He smirks again. "You did _lose_, after all. Consider this the second phase of your penalty game: learn to socialize with your peers."

Seto looks up at the man with fire in his eyes. "You slick bastard," he murmurs slowly.

A silence builds.

Then:

"_What _did I just hear you say?!"

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>Gregor Kelvin comes stomping up to the table, while another man follows him at a much more leisurely pace. The director looks like he's just gone thirteen rounds with a bottle of imported scotch, but that might just be the natural state of his face when he's angry.<p>

Seto blinks, but doesn't flinch, as he looks up at a man he clearly detests. "What?" he asks in calculatingly innocent bewilderment.

Kelvin's companion is holding back, watching.

"That sort of language is _flagrantly _unacceptable, Yagami! How _dare _you disrespect a gues—"

"Allow me to stop you here, Mister Kelvin," Pegasus interrupts smoothly, rising to his feet. He is several inches taller than the man. "Please, do everyone a favor and don't make a fool of yourself. I won't have you using me as a platform on which to antagonize this boy. _I _will decide if I'm being disrespected, thank you very much." He turns a sideways glance at Seto. "I do believe your brother has found himself in a bit of trouble," he says, gesturing across the courtyard. Seto blinks, looks over, and almost squeals as he scrambles to rescue Mokuba from whatever torment he's found himself confronting.

"M-Mister Crawford . . . we don't _allow _the children to speak in—"

"Obviously," Pegasus interrupts, "because it would be quite troublesome if a _brat _were to use _your _turns of phrase against you, wouldn't it? Do _yourself_ a favor now, and stop lying to me. I don't like it. And while my corporation might not be as influential as I'd like it to be for the moment, I believe I have more than enough _resources _on hand to make your life a living hell if you continue to insult me." Something flashes behind the sheen of Pegasus's silver hair, which covers the right side of his face. "Do we understand each other?"

Kelvin doesn't speak again. He simply turns and scrambles away, trying desperately to hide the fact that he is scrambling.

At this moment, the director's companion makes his presence known. He is a tall, broad-shouldered man, black-haired with a finely groomed mustache and a chiseled face. He is, like Pegasus, dressed in red.

"Pegasus Crawford?" the man asks in a low rumble.

Pegasus bows with a flourish. "You've heard of me. I'm humbled."

"Quite a performance, I must say. I don't exactly make a habit of . . . socializing while on business matters, but you've managed to inject _some _amusement into my afternoon. For that, I must thank you." He holds out a hand.

Pegasus shakes it. "It was my pleasure, Kaiba-shachou."

Gozaburo Kaiba smirks. "Mm," he says, and walks away.

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>On his way out to the parking lot, Pegasus stops and watches as Seto (his last name is apparently Yagami) administers impromptu first aid to his little brother, which amounts to little more than patting him on the knee and whispering to him until he stops crying.<p>

Pegasus steps over. "Now, now," he says, "what's this? Has our little warrior been bested in combat?"

Seto flinches, and looks up. "He just . . . fell down."

"_No_!" Mokuba says, insulted. "Did _not_! Got _pushed_."

"Hush, Mokie," Seto says. "Don't bother Mister Crawford."

Pegasus sits on his heels and dangles his hands between his knees. "Well, now. That's quite a shame. But you know, Mokuba, the _very best way _to get back at a bully who's pushed you down?"

Mokuba blinks away tears, and shakes his head. "Uh-uh."

Seto is scowling now.

Pegasus smiles. "I'm sure your Niisama knows this already. He can tell you how well this trick works, I think. If you really want to show that bully who's boss, all you have to do is one simple thing." He rises smoothly to his feet. "Stand up."

". . . Huh?" Mokuba stares up at the man. "Stand up? Tha's all?"

"Absolutely!" Pegasus says, grinning now. Seto's scowl softens. "The _very best thing _to do to a big, bad bully is show them that they can't keep you down. So stand back up, little warrior! Look at your shirt, there. You're a knight. A knight in shining armor! Stand proud! I'm sure that would make your Niisama proud, too. He can say to the other children, 'See? You can't hurt _my _brother. He's stronger than you.'"

Mokuba's little face twitches with a slight smile. "Nii'tama? Proud?"

Seto smiles at the smaller boy. "I'm always proud of you, Mokie. But Mister Crawford is right. Stand up, and show them. You're stronger than they are. Aren't you?"

Mokuba stands up. "Uh-huh! I'm _knight_. Stronger'n _everybody_." He looks at Seto and shrugs. "'Cept Nii'tama."

Pegasus chuckles. "Of course. Well, now. I have to leave. You boys take care of each other. I'm sure I'll see you again. After all, if I'm going to adopt an heir to take over my company someday, I have a lot to learn." He winks. "I'm hoping Miss Hathaway can teach me."

"Adopt?" Seto repeats suddenly. Too suddenly. "You . . . you're here to adopt?"

"That, and a few other ventures. But yes. That's my primary objective, I suppose you'd say. Most people might think I'm too young to think about such things, but it's never too early to start securing the future. But anyway, I do believe I'm counting the chickens before they hatch. I haven't even filled out the application yet."

He turns away. The two boys can't see the sly smile on his face, but Croquet can.

"Enjoy your day, Seto Yagami. Mokuba Yagami. It was a pleasure to meet you both."

"Bye-bye!" Mokuba sings out, and Pegasus doesn't have to look to know that he is nearly dislocating his arm to wave for him.

". . . Goodbye, Mister Crawford."

Pegasus and Croquet make their way toward the parking lot again, in meditative silence. The servant's face is almost grim, while the master's face is gleeful. He has made quite the venture out of his social visit today, and the stack of paperwork tucked under Croquet's arm might just hold the key to a glorious future. Pegasus has a difficult time holding in his excitement, which is probably why Croquet is so serious.

When Master Crawford gets excited . . . strange things tend to happen.

Dark things. Twisted things.

Pegasus stops walking a full three seconds before they hear Seto's voice again: "Mister Crawford!"

He turns his head. "Yes?"

Seto fidgets, and plays with the hem of his shirt before he realizes he's doing it and stuffs both hands in his pockets. "Um . . . I wanted to thank you."

"Oh, don't worry, my boy. It's not like I gave you the cards as some gesture of altruism. I have high hopes that this place will do wonders for our sales figures." He laughs. "I have my eye on you, Seto Yagami. You have the makings of a tournament player, I think. Just remember to practice."

A beat of silence.

". . . I wasn't talking about the cards. Sir."

"I know."

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>A note: in the "Paved with Good Intentions" series, the old director of the orphanage when Seto and Mokuba lived there is called Gregory Kelvin, not Gregor Kelvin. Technically this was a mistake on my part, but I'm leaving it in.<strong>_

_**It's a new story; it's a new world. Some things change.**_

_**Some of those things are small. Others are not so small.**_


	4. Great Expectations

_**I was originally going to save this plot point for later, but the story had different ideas. I figure the point of an AU story is to start diverging from canon as quickly as possible, so I asked myself:**_

_**What if Seto and Yugi had met before Seto forgot (entirely) what it meant to make friends?**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Um . . . hello? H-hi. Um . . ."<p>

He is a picture in paradoxes. His clothing is cheap, frayed and doesn't quite fit right; however, he wears it with impeccable precision, and most of the time he wears it with untouchable confidence. His eyes are sharp, bright, vibrant; but when he tries to speak, his voice is quiet, soft, and nervous.

Despite the fact that he probably has a larger vocabulary than his teacher.

For most of the school year, Seto Yagami has sat in the front of the room, in the seat nearest the door; he never raises his hand to answer the teacher's questions, and he never volunteers to do anything; he must be expressly told to do it. He always leaves immediately after the bell rings, and nobody knows where he goes during recess.

Yugi was the first to notice that he has the best scores of any student in the class. Yugi, who is probably the only person _shyer_ and more socially awkward than Seto Yagami, but who hides it better simply due to the fact that he has a friend he can talk to at lunch.

Téa Gardner watches Seto approach Yugi as the bell rings for first recess. Her eyes narrow the slightest bit; she's watched other boys approach her diminutive friend to "play" with him, and they almost invariably force her to get into trouble with the principal.

"I don't know what you _expect _me to do," she's known to say. "They hit him, so I hit them. Of _course _I hit them harder. How else am I s'posed to make them stop?"

Thankfully, her mom and dad understand her reasoning—Dad's the one who _taught _her to think like that—so she hasn't _really _gotten in trouble at home. Whenever the principal calls them, they talk about "how hard it is to raise such a spirited little girl," and they promise to do better.

Then they take her and Yugi out for ice cream.

So yes, Téa watches Seto Yagami, wondering for a long moment whether she's going to have to rearrange his teeth. Probably not, actually. His awkwardness looks genuine. He doesn't look like he's putting on an act so he can sneak up on Yugi later.

Yugi, ever oblivious and entirely too trusting, looks immediately excited that someone is talking to him. "Hi!" he says, grinning with his entire face. Téa wonders how much Yugi knows about this boy. She's heard that he used to go to a private school, but got transferred here because his parents couldn't afford tuition anymore.

She's heard that his parents are in prison. She's heard that he ran away from home.

She's heard that his parents are dead.

"You're name's Seto, right?" Yugi asks. He waves; again, like his smile, he doesn't just confine the gesture to one spot, but uses his entire body. His enthusiasm seems to infect the other, probably older boy; Seto's lips twitch upward into something that looks vaguely like a smile.

"Um . . ." Seto starts, then sighs through his teeth; he looks angry. "Listen, I was wondering . . . I just wanted to know if you . . . had heard of a game called _Magic & Wizards_." At this, Yugi's expression changes, and Seto apparently takes this as a sign of grave offense. "I, uh . . . I mean, you always seem to have so many games in your bag, so I thought . . . maybe . . ."

"Have I _heard _of _Magic & Wizards_?" Yugi asks incredulously.

Seto steels himself up, and puts on a grave face. Téa isn't much older than these boys, but she can't help but feel a maternal twinge of pride at the way Seto is handling this situation. He obviously has no idea how to approach the concept of being friendly. He doesn't have that . . . charming naiveté that makes it so easy for some kids to make friends; Yugi doesn't, either, for that matter, despite the fact that he's both charming _and _naive.

"Yes," Seto says.

Yugi lights up like a Christmas decoration. "You _bet _I've heard of it!"

A stunning little smile rises on Seto's face. "Really?"

"Yeah! Do you play?"

"Well . . . once. See, Mister Pegasus Crawford came to my . . . house. The place I live. And he let me make a deck of cards. But I lost when he challenged me, so he said I had to find someone else to play against, so I could get better and beat him someday. And I want to do that, because he let me have the cards I played with, even though he wasn't supposed to, and . . ."

He loses steam partway through, and only muscles on because he probably has a script in his head. Eventually, though, he realizes that Yugi is staring at him like he's grown extra legs.

He says, ". . . What?"

"You . . . dueled _Pegasus Crawford_?"

"Um . . . well, yes. But I lost, so I have to—"

"You dueled _Pegasus Crawford_?! Of _course _you lost! He's a _genius_!"

Seto bristles. "I could have won. He just . . . he tricked me. I lost focus."

Téa normally would have been worried, watching this, thinking that this boy had just happened to look up the genius game designer in charge of Industrial Illusions, to use as an _in _to get Yugi to lower his guard.

But there's something about Seto Yagami—something unnerving—that tells her: if Seto Yagami wanted to hurt someone, he just hurt them. This isn't someone who knows how to trick people. His face is too honest for that.

She decides to help this awkward little square dance.

She steps up. "Yugi forgets his manners at home sometimes," she says. "Yugi, you should introduce yourself to someone you just met."

"Oh!" Yugi looks embarrassed. "I'm Yugi Mutou. Nice to meet you!"

". . . Seto," the other boy offers, even though Yugi obviously already knows. He doesn't give his last name.

Téa wonders what that means.

Seto holds out his hand for Yugi to shake, which Yugi does . . . quite excitedly.

Figuring this is as good as she's going to do, Téa sits back down in her seat and watches the two boys try to maneuver themselves into a game of cards. Neither one of them comes right out and asks for a match, even though it's pitifully obvious that they both want to play. By the time Seto gets around to _starting _to ask, the bell rings and it's time to get back to his seat.

"You should come sit with us at lunch, Seto!" Yugi offers. "We'll play!"

This surprises Seto. Now _he _looks suspicious, like maybe _Yugi _is setting up some sort of ploy. But he eventually nods. "Sure," he says, and sits back down.

Téa figures that if she doesn't tell them to eat _first_, they'll both forget.

Rolling her eyes, she mutters, ". . . Boys."

But she can't help but smile.

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>"I hear you followed through with your plan to visit the orphanage today."<p>

Pegasus Crawford glances up from his desk and eyes the stern woman warily. "I did," he says, noncommittally. "Did I not _say _I would?"

"Forgive my saying, sir, but you often announce grand plans that you never get to. I figured this would be one of them."

"If this is about that barista you tried to set me up with last month, you should have known _that_ wouldn't work out."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"She said my hair makes me look like a _poofter_, and spent the entire afternoon criticizing my clothing!"

"Well, sir, you might _consider _cutting your hair—"

"_That_ . . . will do. Listen to me: I have _no time _for someone as superficial as that, and you know it."

"Superficial? Surely you're joking. Have you _seen _what you keep around this place? All these toys and cartoon pictures and comic books. And you're calling _other _people superficial?"

A sudden, but undeniable shift in the air announces that Pegasus has left; Master Crawford has arrived. He stands up. "Listen to me closely, Fiona. You are a valuable member of this estate, and I _deeply _value your insight. But if I hear one more word about my needing to grow up and put the toys away, my tolerance will be at an end. I run a _toy _company, woman. This is my _job_. If you have nothing better to do than question me, I'd suggest you take the rest of the night off. Do we understand each other?"

Fiona St. Claire, realizing she's crossed a line, bows hurriedly and leaves the room without a word.

About ten minutes later, a new voice announces itself from the doorway. "You normally ignore her ribbing. If she's getting to you, sir, then I have no choice but to assume that you're feeling guilty about something."

Pegasus looks up from the stack of paperwork trying to force him into submission, and glares with his one visible eye. "Clearly," he says. "That orphanage needs renovation. _Heavy _renovation." He levels Croquet with a predatory look. "It's like walking into a Dickens novel. A malevolent dictator, forcing the young minds of today into his very specific little box, 'for their own good.' And only two of the youngest, most optimistic workers there are _actually_ looking out for their welfare. If this _were _a novel, or a movie, Hathaway and Elliot would fall in love, marry, and adopt those Yagami boys themselves. And the curtains would close on their first Christmas as a _family_."

Croquet smirks. "This is obviously not good enough for you, sir."

"It isn't." Pegasus growls low in his throat. "That man, Kelvin, needs ousting. Him and everyone cut from his cloth. Cut, then cure."

Croquet nods. "And that, sir, is why you are feeling guilty?"

Pegasus shrugs helplessly. "There's only one way to deal with a man like that."

Croquet sighs, bows, and says, "I'll . . . prepare."

Pegasus leans forward on his desk, tents his fingers in front of his face, and chuckles.

"You do that, Croquet. You do that."

Gold flashes from behind the master's hair.

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>Téa Gardner is a contemplative person at twelve years old, and right now she's contemplating just how much time Seto Yagami and Yugi Mutou will spend <em>talking <em>about cards before they actually get around to _playing _them.

She eats her lunch quietly, not infringing upon the moment, because there's something mesmerizing about just how quickly a single topic of conversation can suck two people into their own little world. Two of the shyest kids in school, talking so rapidly and in such clipped jargon that nobody else would have been able to understand them, even if they'd had a transcript to read.

About fifteen minutes before lunch is over, a swaggering boy whose name Téa has never bothered to learn decides to infringe upon this moment. He watches Yugi and Seto trade ideas and strategies for a while, then reaches out and sweeps a hand across the table and sends about thirty cards flying onto the grass.

"'Sup, _nerds_?" the boy asks with a clammy grin.

"Certainly not the average IQ of this conversation," Seto replies quietly, as he stands up. Téa blinks. Where had _that _come from? Seto quietly, almost meditatively, starts to pick up the cards. Yugi, meanwhile, alternates between staring at his new friend and staring at his old tormentor.

". . . Um . . . hi, Eddie," Yugi offers with a slight stutter. Obviously _he _has bothered to learn this boy's name. "We were just . . . um . . . talking about a game. Have you heard of _M-Magic_—"

"_No_!" Eddie shoots back, as though Yugi has just made an inappropriate accusation about his mother. "I'm not a frickin' _nerd _like _you_!"

"Clearly," Seto says, having collected roughly a quarter of the lost cards. "To qualify as a nerd, there's at least a _certain _level of intellect required." He looks at Eddie, his blue eyes blazing. He looks the older boy up and down, sneers, and says, "You don't have it."

"The _fuck _you say to me, nerd?" Eddie asks, beady eyes narrow and suspicious.

"I believe I said your mother should have gotten hold of better birth control medication," Seto replies smoothly, leaning back down and focusing on the cards again, "but I may be wrong. Something about your _smell _makes it hard to focus."

Téa normally would have stepped in by now, formed a human shield between her tiny friend and the older, stronger, meaner boy who seems so intent on terrorizing him, but she finds herself unable to move.

Unable to _think_.

A transformation has taken place.

"Say that _again_! Nerd!"

Seto sighs, stands straight, hands Yugi the cards he's picked up, and turns to face Eddie again. "I . . . said . . . go . . . fuck . . . yourself."

Eddie's first, and only, punch hits nothing but air.

Seto slips underneath the swing, quick as a whip soaked in grease, dives to the side, and sends a leg _slamming _into the backs of Eddie's knees. Eddie buckles, flails his arms around, and seems to start falling forward in slow motion.

Seto clamps a hand on the back of Eddie's head and _slams _him against the table.

Looking supremely satisfied, but also frightening, Seto looks around as Eddie crumples, unconscious, to the grass. He's surveying the scene. Checking to see how many other kids have seen this.

The answer is: plenty.

"Anyone else want to try me?" he asks, his normally quiet voice a veritable crack of thunder. Téa flinches. At the expected silence, Seto says, "Good."

He sits back down opposite Yugi, picks up a card, and smiles. "I think _Shadow Ghoul _has a lot of potential, if you use it right. You could probably build a whole deck around it, actually. Show me that magic card again. What was it? _Graceful Charity_?"

Yugi, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, nods dumbly. ". . . Uh-huh?"

The bell rings not long afterward, and Seto makes a point to adjust Eddie's bulk so that he's lying straight. He even lifts up the boy's arms and folds them behind his head.

"What . . . are you doing?" Téa asks.

Seto shrugs. "Now it looks like he just decided to take a nap. If he remembers what happened, he won't dare tell anyone." He gestures to himself. "I'm just a nerd. No way he's going to admit I kicked his ass."

Téa blinks. "You . . . you're . . ."

"_Awesome_," Yugi says, quietly.

Seto smiles. It's a lovely smile. Innocent, charming.

Dangerous.


	5. The Status Quo

_**This story, like any number of projects that I start, has turned out to be a bit bigger in scope than I anticipated. There's a lot more involved in this than I counted on, which on one level is kind of irritating, because the whole point of starting this story (even though I have plenty of others demanding my attention) was to have something easy to write, something light, something . . . simple.**_

_**I should know myself better by now.**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>The nature of crime is . . . delicate.<p>

"For instance," Pegasus murmurs thoughtfully, "consider the nature of our current errand. Is it intent that makes the difference? That makes it illegal? Is it a lack of permission?"

"I believe, ah . . . intent has a fair amount to do with it, sir."

Croquet has been standing in the same position, in the same far corner of the same unlit office, for the past three hours—with his arms clasped behind his back—and he looks like he would rather pull out his own teeth than be here any longer; but he has no choice. The master has spoken.

"And that, I suppose, would be why an assassination attempt is still a crime, regardless of the outcome."

"I would suppose the same."

"But consider this: suppose I am merely here to give a friend some much-needed advice? What is that called? An intervention? What if I am merely staging an intervention?"

"The fact remains that you fully intend to see a man dead by sundown, sir."

"I'm merely _hoping _for that particular outcome. Is it a crime to hope?"

"That seems to fly in the face of staging an intervention."

"Be that as it may," says Pegasus, eyeing the fingernails of his right hand as though convinced that some dirt has managed to sneak underneath them in order to spite him, "what I mean to say is, modern society seems quite obsessive when it comes to labeling things. Consider, Croquet, what my intent tonight would be called some hundreds of years ago. You might well call it divine providence. Am I not simply a servant of the old gods, blessed with their sight, such that I can see when a human being proves cancerous to his fellows?"

The master's language often reflects his mood. The more flowery his soliloquies, the more potent his rage.

"I suppose you're referring to your prized golden eye, sir," Croquet says softly. He feels a shudder go up his spine; he doesn't like to remind himself that his master is haunted by delusion. This is particularly troublesome every time he remembers that he actually doesn't have any proof that Master Crawford is delusional at all.

No more delusional than Croquet himself, that is.

Croquet has seen just what the Millennium Eye can do.

What it can see, and more importantly what it can make other people see.

"My prized golden eye . . ." Pegasus repeats, softly, to himself. He reaches up with his left hand, and touches two fingers to the golden symbol protruding from his left eye socket. "Prized," he repeats, as though he is testing the taste of the word.

The master is currently seated behind an expensive oak desk so impeccably presented that it's impossible to believe that anyone uses it to work. The entire office is a sham, a political statement. In Croquet's experience, a true _worker's _private space is a prime example of function as form. The higher up the corporate ladder one climbs, the more likely one is to find those who care more for their image than their productivity.

Invariably, people like this have perfectly organized desks.

In short, Croquet would have been far more likely to argue against murdering a man who worked in absolute chaos, because it would have implied an actual loss.

As it is, however . . .

The office's single door opens, and Pegasus Crawford leans back in the chair he's currently occupying.

Croquet thinks about reaching for his sidearm, but eventually decides against it.

There is, after all, no need.

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Someone's in a good mood today."<p>

Seto Yagami schools his expression into something resembling its natural state; Kristine wonders if the poor boy thinks he somehow doesn't deserve to be happy. She's met plenty of children who think that way in her line of work.

Their families have been shattered. Their lives have been ruined. What possible reason could they have to be in a good mood? Smiling is a direct insult to everything they've lost.

"I met a kid at school who plays the game," Seto says slowly, looking at everything around him except Kristine's face. "His grandfather owns a little shop across town."

"Well, _that's _lucky, isn't it?" Kristine smiles. "Did you get to play?"

Seto blinks, tilts his head to the side, and looks like he hadn't actually considered that question until now. "Um . . . no. Actually. We didn't get that far. He told me about strategies and deck designs he's come up with, and we just . . . well . . . we didn't have time."

Kristine wonders if Seto realizes what this means. Has quiet, cynical little Seto Yagami made a friend? Has he spent a day at school just _talking _to someone his own age? Such a concept is doubtlessly foreign to this boy, who has a chip on his shoulder so wide and jagged already that Kristine half-expects it to make him bleed.

The only person at the Domino Children's Home with _more _bitterness woven into the cleft of his heart is Director Kelvin.

"What would you say to a mug of tea?" Kristine offers suddenly.

Seto finally looks at her. ". . . Okay. That would . . . that sounds fine."

Kristine feels as though she's approached her boss and asked him to lunch. Like he has such a thoroughly packed schedule that he has to consult his ledger for every little thing. She wonders when he will start calling his own principal to inform her that he won't be able to make it in today.

Seto stops. "Where's Mokie?"

"Hm?" Kristine raises an eyebrow. "He's down for his nap."

"I have to check on him," Seto says, and disappears before Kristine has a chance to say anything else.

Fifteen minutes later, Kristine steps into the room that Seto and Mokuba share with two other boys to find Seto seated in a chair, watching his tiny brother sleep. She hands the little genius a mug of black tea, which he takes distractedly. Without looking up, Seto says, "Could you leave, please? Mokie's a light sleeper."

Kristine sighs, puts on a long-suffering smile, and bows at the waist. "At once, Seto-sama," she says.

Seto finally looks at her again, without humor. He doesn't seem amused by her little jab, nor insulted. In point of fact, he looks imperial. As though he's simply relieved to find someone finally giving him the respect he deserves.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>"What the <em>hell <em>are you doing here?!"

The master raises his single visible eyebrow. "Some might say I'm doing your job for you."

Gregor Kelvin's eyes go wide, then narrow. His voice comes out in a slathering hiss, through clenched teeth. "My job is to sneak onto government property after hours to _stalk _people?"

Pegasus laughs. "My dear little idiot, please don't make more of this than it is. I'm hardly _stalking _you. No. Your job is to keep this place running in top shape. To ensure that the people under your command are able to do their jobs properly. A rather unfortunate truth has been made evident to me. To wit, there is a rather large and ugly obstacle standing in the way of this orphanage's true purpose: you."

". . . Just what do you think this orphanage's 'true purpose' is?" Kelvin demands stiffly. "What do you think you know of our work here? You can't be older than eighteen. You don't know _jack shit _about what we're doing here!"

Pegasus _was _smiling. Now, he is not.

". . . Gregor Kelvin, I think you _actually _believe that. My. That's a surprise."

"Don't fuck with me!"

"Don't _fuck _with you?" Pegasus stands, and leans threateningly over Kelvin's desk. "Firstly, Mister Kelvin, you would do well to keep that tongue of yours in _check_. You run a _children's _home. It's hardly in your charges' best interests to fill their minds and mouths with filth. Secondly, check your self-indulgent rhetoric at the door. This room is no longer your private cesspool. It is your hall of judgment. You would do well to put your best foot forward. If you have one."

Kelvin's throat works quickly, bulging with indignant fury. "You're insane. Get out, right now, before I call the police!"

Pegasus reaches over, rips the phone from its place on the corner of the desk, and flings it across the room where it shatters against the wall in so many splintering pieces.

"What the hell is your problem? Who _are _you?!"

Pegasus Crawford's grin is a savage grimace. "I am your deliverance. I am your Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Listen closely, Gregor Kelvin. I won't repeat myself. This is the _one _plot of land where the needs of children rise above the petty grievances of their elders. This is _their _palace. Your job, you pitiful insect, is to give yourself to them. And if they elect to feed on you, to pick you clean and leave your bones for the sun to bleach, then you'll let them do it with a song in your heart."

Kelvin's face goes slack. "You're a _lunatic_!"

Pegasus's grin softens, and his voice turns silky.

His left eye glitters like the dreams of a false god.

"May I take that as an indication that we don't see . . . eye to eye?"


	6. A Sable Cloud

_**Hello, everyone! Welcome to 2015!**_

_**More of a delay in getting this out than I anticipated, but I hope that I might be forgiven. I'm working out a number of different projects at the moment, and the fate of this particular story was in flux for a bit.**_

_**Here's the basic idea: I have decided to treat any new stories in the same method that I did for "Light a Candle for the Prince," the last story that I finished. What I mean by this is: I will not begin to post a new story until the story itself, or at least the current story arc, is finished. This will permit me a more regular update schedule.**_

_**This will be one of the major stories, I think, that I will post regularly while I work on anything new. Basically, it is my backup work.**_

_**Now, then. I suppose things ended on a cliffhanger last year. So what say we check in?**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>By the time Pegasus Crawford makes another appearance at the Domino Children's Home, Gregor Kelvin is three weeks dead.<p>

Croquet has had an unfortunate amount of experience in maintaining a calculated ignorance when it comes to dead bodies. This is to say that he knows how to maintain a poker face, which is made substantially easier by his ever-present sunglasses and the fact that, in all honesty, he's made his career out of _dealing_ with dead bodies.

Hiding them. Disposing of them. Making them.

Croquet doubts he will ever know how his employer came to the conclusion that three weeks was the proper amount of time to avoid the scene of his crime in order to rid himself of any suspicion, but he can't help but notice the apparent efficacy; no one eyes him strangely as he walks onto the grounds.

The master approaches Kristine Hathaway first. He says, in a tone of voice that Croquet knows beyond knowing that he's been calculating for days: "Good afternoon. It's been some time. I wondered if I could . . . speak with you."

Kristine smiles. "Yes? What can I do for you, Mister Crawford?"

"Far be it from me to hang a carrot in front of you all," the master says, "but I hesitate to donate to the cause considering the nature of its leadership. I can't help but think that you aren't thrilled with the way things are going right now, and I just wondered if there was anything I could do. Perhaps . . . someone who goes above Mister Kelvin's head? Someone who could ensure that I—what is it? You seem surprised."

"Oh, I . . . well . . . it's just that . . . Gregor Kelvin is no longer the director here, Mister Crawford."

"Oh." Pegasus manufactures a delighted look. "I . . . can't deny being pleased to hear that. Has he stepped down?"

"Not . . . quite. He's dead."

The delighted look sloughs from Pegasus's face. ". . . Oh. I see. Well, I suppose that changes things. Regardless of what I felt about the man, I wouldn't wish death upon anyone. And so _young_."

Had Croquet been a lesser—or younger—man, he may well have choked on his own tongue. He wonders how it can be that Kristine Hathaway does _not _see the psychopathic amusement glittering in Pegasus's only visible eye, at the irony of his current speech.

She clearly does _not _see.

"Yes. He _was_ quite young. Daniel is acting as interim director until a permanent replacement comes in." Kristine smiles, somewhat sadly. "But, perhaps this means there is a silver lining? You needn't worry about your donation."

Pegasus chuckles. "I suppose you're right about that." He waits, another calculation, before he says, "You'll forgive me if I assume the children aren't exactly hung up on the loss of their beloved leader."

Kristine shrugs. Her face turns neutral. "Death is always traumatic. It reminds us of our own mortality. But then, I suppose that only applies to the older set. Some of the younger children don't even understand that anything has changed. Others understand, but don't particularly care. Only a couple, sadly, seemed actually affected by the whole thing."

"I would assume that the Yagami brothers would belong to the first and second sets?" Pegasus wonders, with an idle sort of interest, which only Croquet can see through. Kristine simply nods. "How are they doing, if I might ask?"

The young caseworker's smile comes back. "It's a relief to find someone else interested in the welfare of those two. They seem to be doing just fine, since you ask. Little Mokuba is just as excitable as ever."

"And Seto?"

"It seems your visit did him quite a bit of good," Kristine confides. "Apparently he's been socializing at school. Something he's never bothered to do before."

Pegasus chuckles. "Excellent." He turns, slowly, without any particular urgency, to watch the front gates. A small, tan sedan pulls up. It parks almost perfectly within the master's line of vision.

A young woman with reddish brown hair ushers three children out of the car. A small boy with wild black hair and sparkling violet eyes. If not for the fact that his hair is quite a bit shorter, and that the boy himself is quite a bit _taller_, he may have passed for the little Yagami.

A girl, older than the others, dressed smartly in a skirt, high socks, and a turtleneck sweater. She has a butterfly pin in her brunette hair.

And, of course, looking disheveled and obviously out of his element, Seto Yagami his own self.

"Speak of the devil," Pegasus murmurs, and has a private chuckle to himself.

Yet another calculation.

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>He'd found himself in the backseat of Missus Mutou's Corolla without any idea of how he even got there. The last thing Seto Yagami could remember was that he was running late after school. And somehow, Yugi Mutou took that to mean that he needed a ride home.<p>

"It's fine!" Yugi had insisted, over and over again. "Mom won't mind! Where do you live?"

He couldn't figure out why Seto didn't want to answer, and kept insisting that Seto tell him long after even Téa had told him to knock it off. Téa seemed to understand more than Yugi did—Seto has found himself wondering if she knows that he is an orphan—why Seto didn't want to accept this offer, but she couldn't get Yugi to stop.

And then Missus Mutou had showed up, and heard the exchange, and Seto found that he couldn't even come up with an argument that sounded halfway logical when _she _started in on him.

So he'd had to admit that he lived at the Domino Children's Home, even though he'd done a rather impressive job of avoiding the subject ever since he and Yugi had met. Seto had prepared himself for a deluge of sympathetic glances and cooing and cawing; he'd found himself in such a bad mood, in fact, that some part of him had already started calculating excuses for never speaking to Yugi Mutou and his _stupid _friend ever again.

Except, none of that had happened.

"That's not too far from here," Missus Mutou had said, glancing off in the direction of the old, ramshackle orphanage. "Yes, that's fine. Let me take you there. I assure you, my car's a fair sight faster than your feet." She'd winked, then.

That, more than anything, would keep coming back up in Seto's mind.

She'd winked at him.

On the way to the Children's Home, Missus Mutou had turned into the drive-through of a fast food restaurant, and Seto had had no idea what to order when she asked him what he wanted, so he'd just said he didn't care, even though that was rude. But she hadn't seemed to mind. She didn't seem to mind much of anything. Neither Yugi's excitable commentary, nor Téa's snarky repartee, nor Seto's unconscious rudeness, seemed to bother this woman in the slightest.

So, that afternoon, he had eaten a burger and fries for the first time in his life, sequestered between Yugi and his chicken nuggets and Téa with her BLT; and he kept staring down at the kid's meal Missus Mutou had bought when she'd found out about Mokuba.

Who . . . _did _that?

Apparently, Natsumi Mutou did.

Seto had tried to insist that none of this was in any way necessary, and offered more than once to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way home. Eventually, she'd said, "I understand what you're trying to do, Seto. Trust me. You aren't inconveniencing me. By the way. Far be it from me to presume to teach you anything, but if you're concerned about being rude . . . it's ruder to refuse a favor than to accept one."

Seto had been silenced for the rest of the ride.

And now, back in the present, here he stands in the place he's supposed to call home, and Mister Crawford is back.

Seto Yagami finds himself so inundated with stunned confusion that he forgets that he wants to be angry. Which is fortuitous, since he doesn't even remember what he wanted to be angry about, anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>"You'd think your son were the boy's brother, not Seto."<p>

"You noticed that, too? I've been thinking that all afternoon."

It is a natural defense mechanism for adults surrounded by children to gravitate to each other, which explains why Natsumi Mutou and Pegasus Crawford have become allies this afternoon, despite the fact that they are from different age groups, social circles, backgrounds, and probably don't share a single interest.

They have been seated at a bench, sharing tea and watching Téa Gardner march three boys through any number of games. She is apparently of the opinion that Yugi has forgotten what it means to hang out with friends, and has insisted that they _all _do something together. She permitted exactly one half-hour for _Magic & Wizards_ talk—"nerd-speak," in her words—before she enforced this new rule. Just enough time, in other words, for Yugi to properly process that the inventor of his favorite new game was actually in his immediate presence, and was more than willing to sign an autograph for him.

Seto may have put up more of an argument if Mokuba hadn't been so excited about playing a game with Nii'tama and his new friends. Yugi, for his part, seemed unable to formulate words, and _wouldn't _be able to formulate words for a week.

"They're definitely cut from the same cloth," Kristine Hathaway says, approaching from the sidelines. "I can't help but wonder if that's what drew Seto to him in the first place." She glances at Missus Mutou. "He's very . . . introspective. He's been drawn inside himself ever since he came here. I think, when Mister Crawford suggested that he learn to commune with his peers, Seto instinctively sought out someone familiar."

Pegasus is rubbing his chin, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I'm not so sure. You make a fair point, Miss Hathaway, but I can't help but think that young Master Yagami is a touch more complicated than that."

The children are currently playing a heavily-modified version of kickball. Yugi is by far the least talented athlete, and Mokuba seems to have no interest in actually following any rules, so the game eventually descends into a kicking competition between Téa and Seto.

Téa's finesse is slowly emerging victorious over Seto's raw power, but not easily.

"How long has he lived here?" Missus Mutou wonders.

"This coming weekend will make six months," Kristine says. "And he's changed more in the past three weeks than all the time beforehand." She looks at Pegasus. "Your one visit seems to have caused quite a turnaround."

"You flatter me. Destiny is not so superficially countermanded."

". . . What?"

Pegasus chuckles, leans back, and he suddenly has the countenance of a king in the presence of fools. For the slimmest of moments, the young tycoon's hair shifts just so; both Kristine Hathaway and Natsumi Mutou catch the barest glimpse of gold.

"Oh, never you mind," the master says loftily. "Just the ramblings of a lunatic."

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><em>You may notice that I've decided something about Yugi's hair. That is, it's simply black. Not black-gold-and-burgundy. My running theory is that he chooses to dye it later on, some time before "now" and the canon timeline. After all, he goes for a bit of a punk-rock aesthetic later on, what with his chains and collars and such. Much less of a jump, I think, to say he'd dye his hair, than it is to assume that he was born with three colors in his hair.<em>**

**_This just so happened to make the image I have of Yugi in my head look . . . markedly similar to Mokuba. Which made an odd amount of sense, when I thought about it in the context of this particular tale._**


	7. Blood and Water

_**Aside from the obvious, I'm writing this story to learn. This is to say that, outside of the fact that it's fun to turn canon on its head and see where a fundamental shift might take us, I'm also trying to learn about the people involved.**_

_**I've never been much of a Téa/Anzu fan. This story seeks to fix that problem, because most of the time I end up not liking a character, it's because I don't "get" them. What better way to learn about someone than by working with them?**_

_**I'm also writing to learn about Pegasus. I've worked with him more extensively than I have with Téa, but I've never really given him free reign to do what he pleases. I've never placed him in a position of power. Here, he most certainly is.**_

_**I've written the Kaibas longer than I've written any other character, and this lends toward me thinking that I know everything there is to know about them. By tossing my favorite fictional siblings into a situation I've never even thought about before, I get to learn something new about them. After so many years, that's exciting.**_

_**And, lastly, this is the first story of my new Acknowledge Yugi's Mom movement. She has exactly one speaking line in the original Japanese anime (I believe), and other than that she basically doesn't exist.**_

_**I intend to fix that.**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Most of the kids here don't like it when Mokie's around."<p>

Téa is sitting on her heels, staring up at Seto like he's said something blasphemous. "What are you talking about?" She turns her attention back to the bouncy little toddler and grins fit to burst. "He's just the _sweetest_ little thing! Isn't he? _Isn't he_?" She tickles him, and Mokuba decides that the proper response to such an act is to hug her; which, in Mokuba's mind, means tackling her to the ground.

Seto smiles sagely, and Pegasus Crawford isn't the only one to realize what that smile means.

"You've been looking after him for a long time, haven't you?" Missus Mutou asks. Seto glances at his new friend's mother, and looks confused. He nods, slowly, like he expects her to reprimand him. Like he expects to defend himself. But Missus Mutou just smiles. "Good. Good for you." Missus Mutou looks down at her son; Yugi looks back up at her, obliviously. "Boys need a strong male influence."

"He calls Seto 'Niisama,'" Katherine puts in. "That word might mean 'big brother' in the dictionary, but that's not what he's saying."

Pegasus smirks. "He's saying 'Daddy.'"

Seto's face goes red. ". . . Could we stop talking about this, please?"

Katherine laughs. "Of course. Let's not embarrass the poor boy." She leafs through a sheaf of paper in her right hand before tucking it under her arm. "Mister Crawford, thank you. You were . . . quite thorough. Things should progress smoothly, if this is any indication of how you intend to go about this entire process."

Pegasus bows at the waist. "Of course. It would only do to put my best effort forward." He glances at his servant and winks. "After all, I am dedicating my life to the molding of another."

"Oh!" Missus Mutou looks surprised. "You're looking to adopt, Mister Crawford?"

"I am. It seems . . . unlikely that I will marry again. So a child of my own blood is likely enough out of the question." Pegasus waits a moment. Then he says, "Then again, what's the saying? 'The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.' A family of my own choosing seems . . . a better fit than one I end up _stuck _with."

Yugi and Seto both stare at Pegasus Crawford. In one voice: "He said it right!" Then they look at each other. "You know it, too?!" Then they grin like fools, and something unbreakable is formed.

Kristine finds herself, yet again, marveling at Pegasus Crawford's ability to work magic on the elder Yagami boy with the most obscure, simplistic, _random_ things.

Croquet is the only one who knows how, and he marvels at it, too.

Just not for the same reasons.

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>Nights at the Domino Children's Home are a space of timeless tradition. Each of them have their own rituals. Some brush their teeth before taking a bath. Some brush their teeth <em>while <em>they take a shower. Some absolutely must have their beds in perfect order before they can sleep; some flop onto the mattress without the faintest regard for where the sheets or the pillows even are.

In order to save space (this is what Seto told himself when he made this decision), Seto and Mokuba Yagami share the same bed. That's _their _tradition. It won't work for much longer, and Seto knows that he will eventually have to _force _his brother to sleep in his own bed—he's heard of cultures which don't do this, where sharing a communal space to sleep is perfectly normal, but he doesn't belong to any of those cultures; their customs seem foreign to him—but for now it's okay. He's only three, after all.

And besides . . . part of Seto is extremely selfish. A part that's deep inside himself, buried beneath most of what he thinks is important about himself, that just likes having his family nearby. Whether it's to comfort himself after a series of tragic and not-so-tragic losses—he will never forgive his "godparents" as long as he lives—or because it simply makes him feel better that Mokuba absolutely refuses to go to sleep for anyone except him, he doesn't quite know. Probably it's both.

He knows that this second reason is toxic, and that he shouldn't pay any attention to it; he also knows that the first reason is dangerous. But usually, when the lights go off and it's time to coax his brother to sleep, Seto is too tired to think through all these things that most adults think he's too young to worry about.

He bets that Mister Crawford would understand. Maybe Missus Mutou would, too.

"Nii'tama?" Mokuba's voice is quiet.

"Hm?" Seto's voice is nearly inaudible. "What is it, Mokie?"

"I like friends."

Times like this, Mokuba's verbal tics are heartbreaking. Seto honestly doesn't know if there's a missing word in that sentence or not. Is he talking about Yugi and Téa, specifically? Is he talking about _Seto's _friends? _Are _they Seto's friends?

Or does he just assume that "friend" is a word you use to describe someone who isn't mean?

"Mm?" Seto allows a slight smile onto his own face; he's on his back, staring up at darkness. "They were nice to you, weren't they, little guy?"

"Uh-huh! They're _nice_. And play _games_."

"Do you remember your new friends' names, Mokie?"

"Um . . . um . . . _yeah_. Um . . ." He clearly doesn't.

"Yugi," Seto says slowly, "and Téa."

Mokuba repeats the names to himself. "Yugi _boy_," he points out. "Téa _girl_."

"That's right."

"Téa older," Mokuba says. "She's like _you_. Smart. 'Tects people. She's funny."

"_Pro_-tects," Seto says. "Yes. She does. Make sure to remember their names, Mokie. You don't want to mix them up if—_when_ they come back."

"Yeah." Mokuba snuggles up against his brother's side; Seto wraps an arm around the smaller boy's shoulders.

"Go to sleep, Mokie."

"'Kay."

"Oi, Yagami!" Another voice injects itself into the silence. "Mighta noticed the lights're off! Mind shuttin' that _brat_ up?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Seto replies stiffly. "It's not like he'd already stopped or something scandalous like that. But please. Keep talking. Wake him up. _That'll _make things easier for everyone. Jackass."

"The _fuck_ you s—"

"Oh, for _Christ's sake_!" Another voice. "Whittaker, shove it up your hole. Yagami, stop antagonizing him. It only makes him louder. Now everybody shut up and _sleep_."

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>After leaving the orphanage, Natsumi Mutou drives Téa home first.<p>

Eventually, Yugi says: "Seto's pretty neat, huh?"

"Seems like he doesn't have much experience around other kids," Natsumi says, more to herself than to her son. "Or _adults_. When did you meet him?"

"He's been in my class. He plays _Magic & Wizards_, too. Just like Grandpa! Ooh! Wait 'til he sees this!" Yugi fishes a card out of his pocket. It's a monster card from the game that seems to have taken over her father's life; Sugoroku insists that there are serious archaeological connections to this _Magic & Wizards _game, but Natsumi wonders if he isn't just making excuses for himself.

As if he can't simply admit that he runs a card shop because he _likes cards_.

The card Yugi is currently admiring is a _Black Magician_, with Pegasus Crawford's signature adorning the bottom right corner of its face. It's Yugi's favorite card. To have it signed by the inventor of the game—and the artist responsible for the character's likeness—is the sort of thing that will cement itself in Yugi's memory for a long, _long _time.

"You'll want to see about getting that card framed," Natsumi says. "Something to keep it safe."

Yugi is nodding. "Uh-huh. Yeah. But isn't it _amazing_? I mean, I didn't think Seto was _lying _when he said he dueled Pegasus Crawford, but still! He was _there_! Right there, on the lawn! And . . . and . . . !"

"I remember," Natsumi says. "I was there."

". . . Why do you think Seto kept talking about how you didn't have to take him home?" Yugi wonders suddenly. "He kept saying it, over and over."

"I'm sure he feels like he's all on his own," Natsumi says. "You know what it means, that he lives at the Children's Home. Don't you? His parents are gone. Dead." She isn't sure if she should be so . . . blunt about this. But Natsumi Mutou has never been one to sugar-coat; not even with her own son. Yugi looks suddenly devastated. "When something like that happens, people usually shut themselves up. They defend themselves by distancing themselves. He's probably not used to people doing favors for him."

"But . . . then . . . like, wouldn't that make it _nice_? To have someone do something nice for him?"

"On one level, yes. But look at how he was with his brother, Yugi. He's in charge of his family now. The 'man of the house.' That's how he thinks. That means it's his job to take care of things. But he's still a little boy. He doesn't have any money, or any way to repay favors. So he was probably embarrassed."

". . . Oh. So, since he doesn't have a way to pay you back for giving him a ride, or getting lunch, he didn't want you to do it. So he wouldn't _have _to pay you back."

"Exactly."

Yugi looks down at his card and frowns studiously. "It must be lonely," he says eventually. "And _scary_. I mean, there are lots of adults at that place, but . . . they're not _hi_s. Right? So . . . they don't count. I mean—! I'm sure they do a good job and all. But still."

Natsumi nods.

They ride the rest of the way to the Turtle Game Shop in absolute silence.


	8. Among the Stars

_**I started watching Yu-Gi-Oh! when I was about thirteen years old. Ish. I watched the English version—Yea, Fear That Which is Eternally Malignant—and because of that, I got used to certain truths. Character names. The location of Domino City. The nature of the Millennium Items.**_

_**I have since learned that these things are not, in fact, true. The second series anime waters down the original manga in several major ways, and the dubbed version of the second series anime somehow manages to do it again.**_

_**This is all to say that I'm slowly incorporating True™ YGO canon into my work.**_

_**This chapter is, in fact, the first time I've used the name "Sugoroku Mutou" in a story based on the anime. For whatever reason, that feels important to me. Hence, why I have mentioned it here.**_

_**I'll trouble you no longer. Let us begin.**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>"You do recall, sir, that they told you everything could take more than a year to fully process. It's barely been a month. Aren't you . . . counting on things going your way just a little too fast? Have you even <em>looked <em>at any of the other children living there?"

Pegasus Crawford is a man whose gaze is somehow entrancing. Which is to say, it's much easier to talk to him when he isn't looking at you. Croquet often takes the time when his master is staring off into the distance—as is his wont—or else otherwise distracted, to say . . . contrary things.

Currently enraptured by watching the front gardens as he is, Pegasus isn't even vaguely _pointed _in Croquet's direction, which makes it much easier to say this. It isn't, however, easy. He can't help but think of a minefield.

". . . No fault of their own, I'm certain," Pegasus murmurs thoughtfully, "but none of the other children in this city, to say nothing of that orphanage, are remotely fit to take on the Sisyphean task of living with _me_." He turns his head, and Croquet can just barely see him wink. "Don't think I don't _know _that I'm difficult, Croquet. I'm a young upstart. New money. But regardless of that, I need an heir I can trust to take whatever I have, and build it into an empire tall enough to kick a hole in the sky."

"And you think Seto Yagami is that heir?"

"I _know _he is. That boy is destined for something great. I don't know what it is, but I intend to see it to fruition however I can. I see no reason why I shouldn't orchestrate things as well as I can to . . . well, not to sound barbaric about it, but _claim _him." The master's face stretches into a grin. "And his brother? Don't get me started."

"Pardon me? The little one is three years old. What could you _possibly _know about him?"

This question turns out to be the death knell for Croquet's flippant courage, because it causes Pegasus to turn around and look him straight in the face. His golden eye is gleaming. Seeming to laugh. "I know far more than you might think, my dear man. Trust me. Those two will take the world by the collar and wring its neck." He chuckles. "And I intend to help them do it."

"And, of course, if you claim your place as their father . . . whatever they do will be in your name."

Pegasus gestures dismissively. "I suppose. It's a nice thought, isn't it? Besides, dear little Seto is perfect for the type of life I can give him. Have you noticed how his personality molds itself to fit his needs? He's supremely adaptable, even at his age."

"Pardon me for saying so, sir, but I think you might be filling in blanks to suit what you want to see. He's adaptable, certainly. Smart. Quick-witted. But I think you might be getting your hopes up a touch too early. Again . . . it's only been a month."

Pegasus's expression turns soft, but somehow is made all the more predatory for it. He turns his attention back to the window at which he's been standing for the past two hours, looking like nothing so much as an old-age portrait of a medieval lord. And why not? He lives in a castle.

The master's gaze sweeps back over the gardens, and his grin turns private again.

He says, ". . . Is there any other way to hope, than for too much?"

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>"No."<p>

Miss Miller is stunned. She stares, blinks several times, looks around the room at the other students. It's like she needs proof, some second opinion, before she can admit what she's just heard. She schools herself up, frowns studiously, and says: "Show-and-tell isn't a game, Seto. It's a required assignment. You can't _abstain_."

"I just did," Seto says.

He has never spoken this way in class before. In hindsight, no one would be able to tell what it was that changed about him, what had caused this sudden upturn in dangerous nerve, but Téa Gardner knows what it is. Yugi Mutou knows what it is. They glance at each other, and Téa actually winks. Yugi smiles, hides that smile behind his hand, and tries not to succumb to a giggling fit.

Who, Téa wonders silently, could honestly blame Yugi for wanting to show off his new prize? He has a _signed Black Magician _now, something of which he is obscenely proud, and he had every right to expect his classmates to understand why this is exciting.

The fact that so many of their classmates laughed when Yugi brought his card in for show-and-tell, and the fact that Miss Miller _let _them laugh, is why Seto is suddenly grandstanding like this. That's the only reason that makes any kind of sense. Téa has been watching Seto Yagami for a month now, not just idly anymore but carefully, and he wouldn't jeopardize a grade for no reason. Sure, show-and-tell isn't _much _of a grade. "Come up to the front of the class and show us something you like" isn't exactly high science or advance mathematical theory.

It's a simple, stupid assignment to get kids used to public speaking.

But Seto Yagami doesn't _get _bad scores. Risking a zero like this . . . there's a reason.

Sticking up for Yugi is the only reason Téa can conjure up.

"Seto, come up here. _Now_."

"I refuse."

Miss Miller goes slightly pale. "Either you come up here and give your presentation, or you're going to the principal's office."

Seto finally stands up, grabbing his bag as he does so. He sidesteps his desk, turns to face the rest of the class, and bows low at the waist. This done, he turns to the door and leaves the classroom without another word.

The entire class sits in stunned silence for two full minutes.

Yugi is nearly biting through his lip to keep from laughing fit to rupture something delicate. Still hiding behind his hand, he turns to Téa and mouths: _He's awesome_!

Unlike last time Yugi proclaimed this, today Téa can't come up with a reason to refute it.

She smiles.

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>This time, Yugi's grandfather is the one who offers Seto a ride home. This time, remembering what Missus Mutou said, Seto accepts without complaint. He bows, says thank you, and gets into the backseat with Téa. Yugi has claimed the front passenger seat.<p>

Apparently, Yugi has been excited about show-and-tell this week, to the point that he told his grandfather _all _about it, because the first thing Sugoroku Mutou says when they get moving is: "How did it go?"

Yugi screws up his face into something that's trying to be nonchalant, and he says, "Not so good. They thought it was funny, I guess. Maybe I got _too _excited. Then Seto talked back to the teacher and everybody forgot about it."

Sugoroku gives Seto a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road. "Is that right?"

Seto shrugs self-consciously. "I . . . well . . . she couldn't control her classroom. I didn't feel like dealing with it, so I refused to go up for my turn. She sent me to the principal's office. But anyway, only two of us go up on the day we get assigned. Yugi went over his time. I would've been up there for _maybe _a minute."

"Hmmm . . ." is Sugoroku's response.

Seto doesn't say that he didn't want to go up for his turn because he'd brought his dueling deck, basically the same thing Yugi had, and didn't want to look like he was copying anybody. Also, he doesn't say that he didn't want anyone to laugh at him. None of this is at the forefront of his mind; Seto doesn't have any conscious idea that he is insecure.

He truly believes that he did it to teach his teacher a lesson.

He won't realize the other reasons until tonight, when he's lying in bed.

Sugoroku eventually decides to let the topic rest at this, and says, "Where are we headed today?"

"I have to go home," Téa replies. "Mom's making her special chicken soup for dinner. She says it's time I learn how to make it, too."

"Aye-aye!" Sugoroku glances at Seto next, who hasn't the faintest clue why. "What of you, greenhorn? Have you seen my illustrious cavalcade of knickknacks and novelties?"

Seto stares. "Huh?"

"He's asking if you've seen our shop," Yugi answers. His eyes sparkle. "You should come by! We've got a _lot _of cool stuff! You'd love it!" He gasps, and turns his attention to his grandfather. "Ooh! Ooh-ooh-ooh! Can I show him my puzzle?"

Sugoroku raises an eyebrow. "It's your puzzle, Yugi. Your possession, and your responsibility. You can show it to whomever you please." He says this with the bearing of an ancient philosopher delivering a warning to his king, much more than an elderly man talking to a little boy.

"Yeah!" Yugi turns around, nearly strangling himself on his seatbelt, and grins at Seto such that every single one of his teeth is visible. "Come on! It'll be fun!"

"I . . . I have to . . . my . . ."

"You're worried about Mokuba, aren't you?" Téa guesses. Seto flinches like he's just been struck by soft-spoken, insightful lightning. "He'll be okay. Miss Hathaway takes care of him when you're at school, doesn't she? She won't mind. That's her job."

". . . Yes. She . . . she does. I guess you're right."

Yugi opens his mouth to speak again, but Sugoroku puts a hand on his shoulder to silence him. "If you'd rather go home, that's perfect fine. But you're more than welcome to visit. I hear you've put together a dueling deck from Pegasus Crawford's own collection? That's what Yugi said. I'd certainly like to take a look at it, if you wouldn't mind." He winks with exaggerated emphasis. "I'm a bit of an _enthusiast_, myself."

Seto blinks. "You, Mister Mutou? Really?"

"Sure!" Yugi's grin, somehow, grows even wider. "He's been playing since the game first came out! He taught _me_ how to play!"

An unconscious little smile sneaks onto Seto's face. And just behind it, a sharp gleam in his bright blue eyes.

"I'm . . . I want to beat Mister Crawford. He says I have to beat him, to earn the deck he gave me. Can you help me do that? Sir?"

Sugoroku Mutou grins like the Cheshire Cat; for just a moment, Seto pictures a younger man, resplendent in a midnight black tuxedo. The sort of man to put a notch in his belt every time his life flashes before his eyes.

"What say we find out together, young man?"


	9. Eye of the Beholder

_**I will be taking certain liberties when it comes to Millennium Magic. The rules aren't exactly set in stone, and honestly, I kind of feel like if you really try to hammer out each and every rule of a magic system, it kind of defeats the purpose of having magic in a story in the first place.**_

_**This isn't to say that there won't be rules at all. Just that, in some ways, they will be—as Captain Barbosa once said— "more what you'd call guidelines."**_

_**You'll see what I mean as this chapter wraps up.**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>The Turtle Game Shop is a small, modest place. Its shelves are stocked with entirely too many different "knickknacks and novelties" to properly gauge them all in the quick glance that Seto gives them, but all the same the store has the atmosphere of one of those Mom and Pop general stores you'd find in old folksy towns; the ones that stay open to the public only because they're tourist attractions.<p>

Yugi bounces into the shop with the bearing of someone who's long since forgotten that the store has anything interesting in it; to him, it's just home. He tosses his backpack onto a card table set in the middle of the main floor. Missus Mutou, who's been standing behind the counter, sees them all walk in and smiles.

"Welcome back," she says. She notices Seto standing there, staring at everything not in any kind of shock but in almost ravenous interest, and her smile widens. "And _welcome_. Hello, again, Seto."

Seto remembers himself, and bows slightly. "Hello, ma'am. How are you doing today?"

It's a stock response, canned and served because he doesn't know what else to say, but he knows—somehow—that it's dumb. "I'll be right back!" Yugi announces to Seto, making him flinch; Seto watches his companion bound over to a door that probably leads up to the second floor of the building, and he feels a sudden swell of panic.

Seto isn't someone who frequents new places very often; not if he can help it. He is a creature of habit. He has his routines, and he likes them. His days are regimented. Each hour has its place. He prefers it that way. Usually, when he _is _forced into a new arena, he has his brother to think about. The necessity of making sure Mokuba is safe, happy, and behaving properly keeps Seto's mind busy, so that he doesn't have to think about anything else.

Like how cripplingly awkward he feels, standing in the middle of a store without a penny to spend.

Sugoroku sidesteps the counter and takes his place there.

"I'm doing just fine," Missus Mutou says, as she starts to head to the same door that Yugi has disappeared through. "Would you like something to drink? A snack, maybe? Dad, _don't _ignore the customers. I'm not sure what you have planned for today, but I know you well enough by now."

Sugoroku waves dismissively.

"Um . . . tea, maybe?" Seto says.

Missus Mutou nods, and disappears.

Seto ruminates on the fact that this is the first time he can ever remember being—_anywhere _without his baby brother. Except school.

He feels a hot stab of guilt.

"Your brother is fine," Sugoroku says, leaning against the counter, and Seto flinches again. He stares, unblinkingly, at the old man. Sugoroku, for his part, winks. "You don't get to my age without knowing how to _read _people. Especially in my line of work."

". . . A salesman?" Seto asks, feeling clueless and hating it. This is why he doesn't like new places. But, like his insecurity complex, he doesn't know this consciously. All he knows is that he suddenly feels stupid, and nervous, and he wishes he'd asked to just go home. The Domino Children's Home isn't _much_, but he knows it. It's familiar. It's predictable.

"Safer to call me a gambler, m'boy," Sugoroku says, standing up straight again. He pulls at the straps of his overalls. "Told myself, years and years ago: if I ever lost, I'd better hang up my suit for some overalls and call it a day."

"A . . . gambler." Why does that make so much sense? "So I guess you lost, then."

Another _stupid _observation. He _really_ should have just gone home.

"Abso-tively! I never back out of a bet, even if it's with myself!" Sugoroku winks again. "So, here I am. Now, like I was saying, if you're worried about your brother . . ." He gestures to the phone hanging on the wall behind him. "Would you care to check on him?"

Has Seto ever mentioned Mokuba to this man? Téa called him by name, but did he ever _say _that Mokuba was his _brother_? Does that mean Yugi talks about him? Certainly it makes more sense than to assume that Sugoroku Mutou can read minds, but he feels the same sense of indignation, regardless.

He tells himself that it's rude to be offended by something so trivial.

"I think . . . Natsumi put the phone number around here somewhere . . ." Sugoroku starts sifting through envelopes and receipts and Heaven knows what else, from under the counter.

"I know the number," Seto says quickly. Then he blinks. "Missus Mutou . . . found the phone number for m—for the orphanage?"

"Just in case," Sugoroku says. "Go ahead and call. It'll put your mind at ease. Then we can see about training you up! You're aiming for the top, Master Yagami. Best we get started."

There's something . . . utilitarian about the way Sugoroku talks about Seto's "training." Seto suddenly realizes, in some part of his brain, that this old man is already fully invested in helping him improve his playing as a duelist. On the heels of that, he realizes that this old man, with no reason to care about him except that he talks to his grandson at school, is already showing more interest in him than almost any adult Seto has ever met.

Except for . . .

Seto smiles; it's a sad smile. ". . . Okay. I'll call. And then . . . we'll train."

"Just call me Mister Miyagi!" Sugoroku announces, and laughs fit to shake the floor.

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>It's the first time Seto has <em>ever <em>done something after school, for himself, and that's why Kristine Hathaway has to tell the poor boy that his brother's doing just fine, even though Mokuba has been inconsolable for the past hour. How would it sound, she wonders idly to herself as she hangs up the phone, if the one time Seto goes off to a friend's house to play, Mokuba is absolutely miserable? How can she possibly do that to him?

She doesn't like lying, especially not to the children she is tasked to protect, but in this case . . . there's just no way to _not _do it. She has to let Seto have his own time, his own wants. She has to let Seto chase them. Shackling him to a responsibility that he shouldn't have ever had to take on . . . just isn't in her. Because she knows, more than she knows that her lungs are used to breathe, that if she tells him the truth, Seto will never do anything on his own again.

Kristine heads into the office that Dan Elliot has been using for the past week—the office she had once dreaded ever stepping into—and finds that Mokuba has quieted down. He's down to sniffling and kicking his feet around, looking like a puppy that's been put out in the rain.

"Are we done?" Kristine asks, raising an eyebrow at Dan.

"I think so," he says. "Mokuba. Are you going to behave?"

Mokuba nods miserably.

"We don't have to tell your Niisama about this, do we?"

Mokuba shakes his head. "No. No-no-no-no."

"Good. So, you're going to be a good boy now, aren't you? And when Niisama gets back, we're going to _tell _him that you've been a good boy. Aren't we?"

Another nod.

"All right, then." Dan gestures. "Go play. But if I hear _one more word _about you misbehaving, your brother's _going_ to hear about it. Understand?"

Mokuba nods one last time, vigorously enough to make his wild hair dance, as he squeezes out of the room and disappears behind Kristine.

Dan sighs. "I feel so _fucking stupid,_" He looks at Kristine. "We're supposed to be professionals, aren't we? Good with kids? That's the whole idea, right? Yet here I am, threatening to tell on a three-year-old, _to a ten-year-old_, because nothing else . . . _fucking _works."

"They're a special case," Kristine says. "We can't expect our normal methods to work with either of them. The simple fact that we've found _anything _that works is a godsend. Best not to dwell on it too much."

Dan sighs again, and cradles his head in his hands. ". . . Kind of epitomizes 'easier said than done,' doesn't it?"

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>Pegasus Crawford sits in a high-backed chair like it's a throne. The room around him is so dark that the candle sitting on the table in front of him does nothing but illuminate just how dark it is. His eyes ache.<p>

Both of them.

In this entrancing darkness, he can _see _the young woman he's been examining in his mind for the past few weeks. She's petite, with jet-black hair and eyes of an indeterminate color. Her face is smooth. Austere. She's dressed in jeans and a sweater.

She looks angry, but not in the way that you would expect a refined young lady to be angry. There's lightning in those eyes, and Pegasus can almost hear the thunder.

"I'm only doing my part to help," Pegasus says.

The illusory woman scoffs. "You tell yourself that," she says snidely, "but what is it, exactly, that you've done to help him? You give him a deck of cards, and you tell him things specifically to get his hopes up without any sort of payoff."

"I have every intention of following through with the promises I've . . . danced around," Pegasus says. Almost pleads. The smooth, suave quality that so many people notice about his voice these days isn't quite working with this woman.

"Oh?" She glares hotly at him, and this time Pegasus _does _hear thunder. "Is that why you haven't _actually _made any promises? Just in case you fail? If it works out, you get to sweep in like Santa Claus! And if it doesn't, no one can pin the blame on you! Is that how altruism works in your world, _Master _Crawford?"

". . . It has never been my intention to hurt your boys. I assure you."

The woman stands up from the chair his mind's eye has placed her in, on the opposite side of the table from his own, and she starts stalking the room. "There we go again, with intentions and promises! I'm looking at _actions_! And so far, all you've actually done is _fuck _with him!" She whirls around, looking like nothing so much as a mother dragon, with some unknowable cataclysm sizzling behind her teeth. "You listen to me, Pegasus Crawford, and listen _closely_!"

Pegasus feels a twinge of superstitious terror that he never would have anticipated. His entire body goes stiff as this ravishing, terrifying beauty in his vision levels a glare on him that's hot enough to melt the Ninth Circle of Hell.

"You've been digging around in my son's mind for everything you've said to him. You stole _me _from his memory. I know the measure of you, Pegasus Crawford. You're so drunk on your 'gift' that you've forgotten the meaning of boundaries. You sit here in your castle like some ancient king, pulling strings and laughing when your puppets dance. My boy has enough to worry about without some _jackass _in a fancy suit toying with whatever's left of his heart. Either you _man up _and put actions to your flowery promises, or I'll crawl right out of your skull and strangle you in your sleep. You, of all people, should know the danger of angering the dead."

She looks up, to one of the far walls of this dark room, and Pegasus's gaze is drawn—unwillingly—to the portrait hanging there. The man in the white robes. The man from Egypt, with the sea-storm eyes.

"Remember the pain," the woman whispers, in the darkest corner of Pegasus Crawford's mind. "Remember how it felt, to wander through dusty streets with no direction. Remember how it felt, when he promised to give you what you wanted, and all you got was pain. Remember that pain. Can you feel it? Can you _taste _it?"

Pegasus's hands grip the arms of his chair almost hard enough to crush them.

". . . Yes."

Yuki Yagami's ghost comes up close to him and leans forward, almost seductively.

"I can do worse. And if anything happens to my boys because of you . . . I _will _do worse."

Then the door opens, and there's no one in the room.

No one but him.

"Master Crawford," Croquet says, crisply, from the open doorway. "Might I ask what you're doing?"

"Oh," Pegasus says, wiping sweat from his brow, "you know. Just arguing with myself."


	10. Equal but Opposite

_**This is a short one, because I had less time than I anticipated to write it. Well, actually, if that were the only reason, I would have just delayed posting it. But another reason is because this section of the story didn't seem to need much.**_

_**A note: Pegasus's argument with Seto's mom in the previous chapter wasn't necessarily supposed to imply that the Millennium Eye can offer prolonged exposure to the "other side." To be honest with you, I'm not sure if that was her actual spirit, or a vivid hallucination. Personally, I lean toward the latter. But . . . who knows?**_

_**Millennium Magic seems to have the expressed purpose of screwing everything up. Blood magic usually does.**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Is this really something we should be concerned about? Master Crawford has <em>always <em>been . . . eccentric. He's an artist. It's in his nature."

Croquet doesn't gather the house staff together for private meetings. It isn't a matter of how often or how rarely he does it; he's _never _done it before. He works one-on-one with the individuals responsible for keeping the master's estate running properly, and has never had a reason to call in the proverbial cavalry all at once.

He isn't sure why he decided to make exception to that rule, and he knows in some part of his mind that he shouldn't have done it without having a very specific plan of action, but he couldn't help it. It was one of those acts that was already half-done before he realized he was doing it, and by then inertia was in full swing.

So, here he stands, in front of twenty-four people, with no idea what he's talking about. Only Fiona seems to have any idea that this is a problem; so far, she's managed to cover for his knee-jerk paranoia by acting as his personal sounding board.

Croquet is grateful to her, but he is also somewhat frightened of her; he can't help but read a subtle but ironclad warning in her demeanor: _I'll give you a hand, but you'd better use it properly_.

"This is more than a passing fancy," Croquet says, "and that's why I've called everyone here. I want you all to keep close eye on his behavior from now on." He decides to gamble; not everyone here understands that Pegasus's golden eye is anything more than a gaudy fashion statement. Better not to mention its corruption. "I worry that Master Crawford is leaping into this entirely too quickly." Here he goes. "Perhaps it's a reaction to . . . well, Lady Cyndia."

"Acting out his grief," Fiona guesses, "without any conscious understanding of it."

"Yes."

"Your concern . . . ?"

"My concern is that his façade will crack, and that it won't be just _him _who suffers for it. Whomever he decides to adopt may well get caught in the crossfire."

"The Yagami boy."

"Boys."

Fiona raises an eyebrow. "Two? He intends to take _both_ of them?"

". . . To use his words," Croquet says hesitantly, "'I would no more separate those boys than tear down Stonehenge. Some things are simply meant to stay the way they are.'"

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>"He's been quiet entirely too long," is the first thing Dan says the next time he sees Kristine. "What's he been doing?"<p>

"Seems mentioning his brother was enough to get him thinking," is Kristine's answer. "He's been in the play room, looking at those cards Mister Crawford left for us. I think _he _thinks he's making a deck. I'm pretty sure his only criterion is that the art is sufficiently colorful, but chances are he'll want to challenge Niisama to a game when he gets home."

Dan chuckles. "Should've known. We should've invoked the Niisama sooner." He draws in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and shakes his head. "I hope you're right. I hope Crawford decides to go through with this. He's obviously got his sights set on them, and considering just how much his advice is changing Seto's behavior . . ."

"Seto trusts him," Kristine says, "as much as he can trust anyone anymore. He'd _better _go through with this, or I might just wring his neck personally. He might be rich, but he's kind of lanky. I'm pretty sure I could take him."

It's supposed to be a joke, but Dan doesn't treat it like one.

"Speaking of rich . . ." Dan plucks a notepad out of his back pocket and glances down at it. More than once, like he isn't sure it's in his hand yet. "Got a phone call. Seems Pegasus Jareth Crawford, President of Industrial Illusions, has decided to follow through on that promise of a donation."

"Oh?" Kristine looks excited for roughly three seconds, then her face turns grim. "What's wrong? You look like you got an invitation to attend a puppy's funeral. Hardly the right attitude when someone decides to be generous, don't you think?"

Dan hands the notepad to her. "I stopped believing in Santa Claus entirely too long ago for this."

Kristine takes the proffered pad, looks at it, then looks at it again.

". . . Did you . . . double-check with him on just how many zeroes to tack onto the end of this?"

"Triple-checked. Why do you think I wrote it down? He says we'll have the check tomorrow." Dan pauses. "He also said . . . there was one condition."

"Which . . . is . . . ?"

"He says we have to spend at least five percent specifically for Seto's birthday."

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>"What would you do here?"<p>

Seto studies the table like his decision will affect the lives of thousands. He glances up at Sugoroku, over at Yugi, then back at the table. This is no different than any other duel, he tells himself. The fact that an old man is testing him has nothing to do with the proper answer to this question.

Seto points. "This. I'll lose most of my hand, but so will you." He holds up a card from his hand. "Then I can just take my monster back from the graveyard."

Sugoroku hums deep in his throat, rubbing his chin. "Mmmm . . . yes. Yes, I can see where you'd come up with that. You're quick to abandon a strategy if your opponent throws the proverbial wrench into it, aren't you?"

"If I dwell on my strategy getting ruined or try to keep it alive," Seto replies promptly, "it only gives my opponent more time to put up defenses. Better to move on before they realize I've made a decision at all."

Sugoroku is nodding halfway through. He looks at his grandson. "You've certainly found a quick study, Yugi. I'm not sure if my _usual_ methods are going to work on him." He grins like the devil, and Seto suddenly feels a ripple of superstitious chill run down his back.

"You're going to use _that _deck?" Yugi asks, fighting a giggling fit.

"I think I haven't any choice." Sugoroku stands up. "Are you prepared to gaze deep into the abyss, Seto Yagami?"

Seto leans back in his chair, crosses his arms, and raises an expectant eyebrow.

_I don't think there's any abyss you can conjure up that I haven't seen already_, Seto thinks grimly; he doesn't realize he's said this out loud until he notices the surprised, concerned look on Sugoroku's face.

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>With this update, the story has reached the 20,000-word mark. Not to imply that this is particularly important, but it still feels worth mentioning. This story has gained quite a bit of forward momentum, and I'm so pleased to see everyone's response to it. Glad you're enjoying this take on everything. It's been extremely illuminating so far.<strong>_

_**I'm learning a lot, which I kind of anticipated, but what I'm learning, specifically, has surprised me.**_

_**Which, I figure, means I must be doing something right.**_

_**By the way: Pegasus's name in canon is just Pegasus J. Crawford. For all I know, he just tacked on a middle initial to make himself sound more distinguished. I opted to give him a middle name of my own choosing a while ago. Now, I'm not necessarily saying that the reference was intentional, but Labyrinth was one of my favorite movies as a kid.**_

_**So . . . you know. Take from that what you will.**_


	11. Keep Your Friends Close

_**It's been asked, according to the timeline I'm using in this story, how it is that Téa can be older than Yugi and Seto, if they're all in the same grade. The answer is relatively simple. Téa missed the cutoff date to start school in her district, and had to wait a year longer than Yugi.**_

_**It hasn't been mentioned in this story, but I'll mention it here: I use my own experiences, that is to say United States experiences, to flavor my YGO work. I'd rather write Domino as the Japanese metropolis that it is, but the sad truth is that I've yet to actually visit a Japanese metropolis. So, I write Domino City as though it's in the States.**_

_**So, the idea is this: here in my neck of the woods (if this turns out to be universal, then feel free to ignore my prattling; if not, well, here you go), you have to be 5 or 6 years old by a certain point in the year in order to start school. I assumed that this cutoff date, in the district that Yugi, Seto, and Téa attend, is midway through August. Yugi, having been born in June, made it in early. Seto (late October) and Téa (late August) did not. Hence, "this" year, Yugi is 11. Téa is 12.**_

_**Seto is about to turn 11. How did he make it into their year?**_

_**Obviously, he skipped a year. Or two. He's smart like that.**_

_**Okay. Logistics over. Let's begin.**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>It's obvious that Seto Yagami learned a long time ago how to walk with his brother attached to him, since he doesn't even react when he steps onto the grounds of the Children's Home, and—after roughly sixteen seconds—Mokuba comes barreling into him and actually <em>climbs <em>up his body to settle himself against Seto's side. His little arms are linked around Seto's neck, and from the look of him he has no intention of ever letting go.

"Hi, Mokie," Seto says gently, rubbing the younger boy's back. "How was your day?"

"Good boy!" Mokuba trumpets, then leans his head against Seto's shoulder. "_Good_ boy."

"You were a good boy?" Mokuba nods emphatically. Seto watches as Dan Elliot approaches the two of them, looking tired but still smiling. "How _did_ he behave?" Seto asks, in a much more business-like tone.

Dan shrugs. "He about covered it. What about you? Seems _you _went on an adventure today."

"Yugi and his grandfather invited me to visit their shop."

Seto then goes into a play-by-play of the entire afternoon, sounding like he's giving a mission report to a commanding officer. Dan, for his part, listens attentively; this is what marks him as different compared to the other adults who work at the orphanage, something that he always considered just part of the job. He actually listens, not just to Seto but to all of his young charges.

Even Mokuba.

It's evening, almost dark, and Dan is pretty sure that it hasn't even crossed this young genius's mind that it's now October, and his birthday is less than a month away. It might not even have crossed his mind that anyone would have cause to _know _his birthday was less than a month away, because Seto Yagami is the poster child for orphans who defend themselves against tragedy by treating information as both armor and weapon; he would no more willingly tell a stranger his birthday than hand over his shoes.

Dan tells a particularly truncated version of the afternoon from _his_ perspective, covering up each lie about his brother's behavior with six different truths. He agrees with Kristine: it wouldn't do to tell Seto that Mokuba is a nightmare without him. But he also knows not to flat-out lie to this boy; Seto reads people much better than you might think, given his general social awkwardness, and he has less reason than most of the children here to trust adults. Which is saying something.

Also, Dan has never been a particularly gifted liar.

Once the Yagami boys are in their room, and Seto is studying while Mokuba tries to put together a jigsaw puzzle on the floor, Dan makes a phone call. He's surprised when someone picks up after two rings.

"_Good evening_," comes Pegasus Crawford's crooning voice from the other line.

". . . Good evening, Mister Crawford," Dan says, drawing in a deep breath and trying to hold himself together. "I wanted to talk to you about your, ah . . . stipulation regarding the money you're donating to us."

"_Of course. I understand that it's less than strictly legal, and you technically don't __**have **__to do anything in return for my assistance. But I do hope you would be willing to, shall we say, acquiesce_."

"Well, see, that's the thing. Seto Yagami grew up poor. I mean, not _shirttail _poor, but certainly his parents never made it onto tabloid covers. How, exactly, do you presume us to spend a thousand dollars on his birthday without him being . . . suspicious? Or feeling awkward?"

"_You know, Mister Elliot—may I call you Dan_?"

"Sure."

"_Dan, I've been thinking about that. Tell me, have you read Tolkien_?"

"Uh . . . yeah? In college. Why?"

"_Do you recall . . . there is a tradition among Tolkien's hobbits, to give gifts to __**others **__on one's own birthday. So . . . I've been thinking, what if we . . . work together, you and I, to make sure that __**all **__the children have a gift to open on Master Yagami's birthday this year_?"

Dan blinks. Stops walking.

He says, with a grin rising unconsciously on his face, ". . . I'm listening."

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>"I can't help but notice that you didn't show your puzzle to Seto" is the first thing Natsumi says in the morning, when Yugi comes stumbling into the kitchen for breakfast. She's been nursing the same mug of coffee for the past half-hour, thinking through innumerable things, and this is apparently the one at the forefront of her mind.<p>

"Yeah, I . . . well . . . I dunno. He might think it's dumb. Everybody else does."

"That's not exactly giving him much of a chance, is it?"

Yugi flinches. "I guess not. But . . . but . . . I wanna _finish _it, y'know? Before I show anybody."

"You were so excited to show him, from what your grandpa tells me." Natsumi sets down her drink and stands up. She lifts the unopened box of cereal that Yugi _tries _to claim as his own from his hand, and replaces it with one that's already open. "You're not going to keep many friends if you don't let them know who you are, Yugi."

"I . . . I know! But . . . but what if . . . ?"

"What if he thinks you're a nerd?" Natsumi smirks at her son's miserable nod. "Yugi, come now. You'll have to come up with something better than that. That boy looks practically two, three years younger than you, and he's in your class. I'd bet _he's _been called a nerd _far _more often than you have."

"But . . . I mean, he's so _cool_! Like, you saw him playing kickball with Téa! And then one time at school he . . . !" Yugi stops suddenly. For a moment he looks ready to panic, then he rallies back around and says: "Well . . . I mean, I don't know this for _sure_, but that thing with show-and-tell? Where he just walked out of class? Téa says he did that to stick up for me. How awesome is _that_? I mean, what's a guy like _that_ gonna think about some dinky old puzzle that isn't even put together?"

"I don't know, Yugi," Natsumi says, more gently. "And neither will you unless you _show him_."

". . . Yeah. I _guess_."

Natsumi ruffles her son's wild hair, and sits back down to reunite with her coffee. "If Seto is risking trips to the principal's office to help you out, don't you think you owe it to him to treat him a bit better than all those strangers you don't know? The ones who _actually _make fun of you? As opposed to Seto, who apparently hasn't said a single mean thing to you?" Something flinty hits her eyes. "We've taught you better than to treat your friends like strangers. Haven't we?"

Yugi kicks at the floor. "_Yeah_."

"Are you going to treat Seto like a stranger anymore?"

"_No_."

Natsumi chuckles. "Good."

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>Seto doesn't think about his birthday anymore. He hasn't thought about his birthday in three years. Not that it's his brother's fault, because it isn't. Seto <em>always <em>remembers Mokuba's birthday, and makes sure to have some sort of gift ready in July. It isn't exactly hard to come up with gift ideas for a baby, after all. It's only slightly harder to pick them out for a toddler.

His father always had more than enough money in the bank to make sure that Seto had gifts—he worked three jobs—but the actual _celebration _part had never really happened, in those final years before Seto and Mokuba had become wards of the state, because his father never had any free time—he worked three jobs.

As to Seto's _godparents_ . . . he didn't like to think about them.

The anger that they summon in him is dangerous; it burns entirely too hot.

So, as Dan predicted, Seto hasn't thought about the fact that it's October. Not really. He hasn't considered telling Yugi, or Téa, or God forbid Mister Crawford, that he's turning eleven in a few weeks. The only thing he's thinking about is whether or not he'll be able to find a costume for Mokuba to wear on Halloween. The younger Yagami doesn't understand what Halloween _means_, but he likes the brightly-colored capes and masks that everyone wears, and Seto is sure that he'll want to join in this year, since he's "growned up" enough.

Maybe he'll ask Dan. Or Kristine.

He returns to his bedroom after a shower to find his brother kneeling on the floor, trying his best to shuffle a stack of _Magic & Wizards _cards. This amounts to fumbling with them for a while, dropping them, and gathering them back up into a pile; then he does it again. And again.

When Seto steps into the room, Mokuba says: "Play!"

Seto blinks. "You want to duel me, Mokie?"

Mokuba's grin reaches his ears. "Play! Nii'tama! Play!"

Seto smiles as he pulls his dueling deck out of a pocket. ". . . Okay, Mokie. Okay. We'll play."


	12. You in the Dark

_**I'm not entirely sure when it became the golden rule of this story that each chapter should have 3 scenes, but who am I to question providence?**_

_**I think it's generally an accepted rule that Seto hated his time at the orphanage. It's easy, for me more than most I would think, to get the idea that every day there was a living hell for him. But as I get older, I start wondering.**_

_**It's gotten to the point where I'm half-convinced that things weren't half-bad there. After all, Mokuba seemed to have had a great time. I think Seto looks back on his time at the orphanage with disdain because . . . well, because he's a freaking misanthrope.**_

_**But, considering where he ended up, I suppose that worked out well for him.**_

_**Anyway.**_

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

* * *

><p>Seto Yagami never wakes faster than when he hears his brother crying. This isn't out of some ingrained sense of devotion—though he certainly would like to think it is—so much as a stark, biblical hatred of hearing <em>other <em>people bitch about it.

The other boys with whom the Yagami siblings share a room have no sympathy for the fact that a child Mokuba's age doesn't _need _a reason to start bawling, and Seto has long since grown tired of listening to their incessant whining.

This night, Seto doesn't even try to soothe Mokuba back to sleep while still in bed; he gathers the smaller boy in his arms and leaves the room immediately. He spies David Whittaker stirring in the dark, and whispers: "One . . . word . . . and I'll _put _you back to sleep."

He can _feel _David's glare on his back as he turns toward the door, but feels a sense of smug superiority when there isn't any sort of verbal reply.

Seto kicks the door shut behind him, and sits in the hallway. "Shhh-sh-sh . . . it's okay, Mokie . . ." he whispers slowly, rubbing his brother's back. Mokuba is huddled against him, like he thinks he might float away and drown if he lets go. His entire body is shaking with uncontrolled sobs.

Seto grits his teeth, and curses anyone who thinks a three-year-old is too young to feel grief.

"It's okay, baby. Shhh . . . come on, now. Brother's here. Niisama's here. You're safe."

It's like a chant, a tuneless lullaby, endlessly repeating itself while he struggles to rock his little brother back to sleep. Seto is tired—he's felt tired for a long time now—but he dares not shut his eyes.

Seto still remembers a talk his mother had once with a friend, back when he was only a little older than Mokuba is now. The friend was talking about what a shame it was that Mother had quit her job. "You were on the fast-track to _own _that shop, Yu!" the friend had said. "You should go back. Seriously. I'll watch little Seto if you need me to."

"Thank you," Mother had said, "but no. Ko and I decided, as soon as we found out we were pregnant. One of us _has _to be here with him at all times. No exceptions."

Seto doesn't remember the rest of the conversation, because the rest of the conversation doesn't matter; it's never mattered. What matters is Mother's word: all times. _No _exceptions.

Guilt settles over him like an old blanket. What right does he have, going off to play with other kids, learning how to play cards and drinking tea, when he has a job to do? "I have to be here," he whispers to himself, remembering his mother's words. "I have to be here with him. No exceptions." He listens with one ear, as his brother's wracking sobs quiet down to sniffles, and he feels Mokuba's little fingers curl around his shirt. "I've got you, little one," Seto whispers, and kisses the top of his brother's head. "I'm here. I'm right here. Go back to sleep. No more nightmares."

Silence, save a toddler's quiet crying, settles in.

Then:

". . . You try so hard to be a hard-ass . . . but you're just a little sweetheart, aren't you, Yagami?"

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

* * *

><p>The voice belongs to Ellie, one of the older girls.<p>

She's still dressed, even though it's the middle of the night. She's in jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. She tosses herself down next to the Yagami brothers and stares off into the distance with that sort of detached, apathetic angst of which only teenagers are capable; she's about fourteen or fifteen years old, and she's been living at the orphanage for six years.

"You were off seeing your boyfriend again, weren't you?" Seto guesses.

Everyone knows that Ellie breaks the rules every chance she gets; curfew is her favorite. She's probably only been back in bed _before_ lights out a handful of times in all the years she's been here.

Ellie smirks. "Maybe." She quirks an eyebrow. "Gonna rat me out, Yagami?"

Seto stares at her. "Why?"

This elicits a grin. "'Atta boy. Knew I liked you for a reason." Ellie spies Mokuba, still shaking, and the grin fades a bit. "What'sa matter with the pipsqueak? Nightmare?"

"Probably."

Ellie pulls out a cigarette, stares at it, toys with it in her fingers for a while, then grimaces. "Gotta set the right example, right?" She points at Seto with the cigarette. "Don't do drugs, kids." She stuffs the offending article back into her shirt pocket.

"I'm pretty sure the law still says you have to be an adult to smoke," Seto says.

"Law says a lot, Yagami. Law says so much I stopped listening." She sighs, then settles into a more comfortable position. "Never would've pegged you as a Mama Bear type. First showed up, I figured you'd be one of those kids'd get snatched up real quick. Folks love the cute, smart ones. The ones that look like they won't be much trouble."

Seto blinks. "Cute?"

"But you," Ellie goes on, ignoring the look on Seto's face, "don't believe in clichés, do you, Yagami? You don't _look _like trouble, but damned if you ain't. You'll fuck a body up if they mess with your baby, won'tcha?"

Seto feels a sudden swell of pride. ". . . Yes." He waits. Then he says, "People _did _want to adopt me. But they never wanted Mokie."

"Stayed here for the little guy." Seto nods, and Ellie waits a moment before she reaches over and ruffles Seto's hair. "You're all right, Yagami."

Blushing furiously, Seto actually smiles.

". . . Thank you."

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

* * *

><p>Before long, Ellie starts to sing.<p>

Seto stares at her for a moment; she looks back at him and raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing. I . . . I'm just . . . I didn't think you liked to sing."

Ellie shrugs. "Best way to get a pipsqueak to sleep is to sing 'em a lullaby, right?"

Seto blinks. "I . . . suppose." He waits a beat. "That didn't sound like a lullaby."

"Sue me," Ellie says, smirking. "Ain't caught up on my rock-a-byes, all right? Gotta make do with whatcha got."

Mokuba isn't crying anymore, but he hasn't moved from his place nestled against his brother. His eyes, wide and wet, are watching Ellie. She makes eye contact with the younger Yagami for a flash of a moment, before she turns away and starts to sing again.

Ellie's voice is already getting scratchy, maybe because of her smoking habit, but it isn't specifically unpleasant. Seto rocks Mokuba in time with the song, which she probably picked up from a rock radio station; it certainly doesn't sound like any lullaby Seto has ever heard. Then again, Seto doesn't often listen to music with lyrics.

Something else he picked up from his mother.

It's long after midnight. Seto is sitting outside his bedroom, in his pajamas, trying to coax his squalling brother back to dreamland, and he's being helped along by a juvenile delinquent who probably won't make it another two years before she's in jail for armed robbery or some other felony.

Somehow, none of this registers in Seto Yagami's mind as strange.

He can feel his brother's breathing change. Mokuba's body relaxes, though his little fists are still wrapped around Seto's shirt.

Ellie is waggling her foot in time with her music, and as Seto watches her, he starts to realize that they're not here for her right now. She's lost in whatever thoughts are swelling around in her head as she almost whispers the lyrics to her impromptu lullaby. Seto doesn't bother to tell her that Mokuba's asleep. He doesn't want to interrupt her, for some reason.

Before long, Seto drifts off to sleep himself. It's a good thing that he's unconscious, because he would have been mortified to know that he's leaning against Ellie's shoulder.

She finishes the song anyway.

Ellie McAllister isn't the sort of girl that would win awards for good behavior. In fact, if she knew Seto's theory on where she'll end up before long, she would probably agree with him. But when she finally decides to leave and head off to fetch a couple of hours so that maybe she'll stay conscious in History class this time, Ellie takes particular care to _not _wake either of her two tiny companions.

After watching the Yagami brothers for a moment, she notices that Mokuba is shivering.

Ellie shakes her head. "How irresponsible of you, Yagami. Should've brought a blanket."

She shrugs out of her jacket, lays it over the two of them, and walks away.

The fact that she pops a cigarette between her teeth, then realizes that her lighter is in her _jacket_ pocket, seems poetic somehow.

* * *

><p><em><strong>.<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>When I was drafting this, I wanted to make sure that I knew which song Ellie was singing, but then I remembered that FF-Net doesn't permit song lyrics that aren't in the public domain. So technically, it doesn't matter, and you can pretty much inject whatever you like into this section.<strong>_

_**If anyone's curious, though, I have two songs in mind that Ellie probably sang to the Yagamis in this chapter.**_

"_**Creep" by Radiohead, or "Letting the Cables Sleep" by Bush.**_

_**I'm partial to the latter, but I'm pretty sure the timeline doesn't add up. It's possible that I'm a bit too hung up on that, but I like my stories to be realistic.**_

_**So, Ellie's probably a Radiohead fan.**_


End file.
